


Lizards are Delicious

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Birthing, Dirty Talk, F/M, Female Domination, Fingering, Fluff, Masturbation, Menstruation, Oral Sex, Sweet Lizard King, Toast is ready for some Warboy therapy!, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Me too, OP, me too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One (The Pluck)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The OP](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+OP).



 

 

 

 

The thumping continued well past it should have, and the sounds. Bollocks, but the sounds they made were the worst of it. It wasn’t that they were loud, not really, but the Vault was made of stone and steel beams interlaced with glass. Every sodding noise echoed twice as loud as it was meant to. So, in turn, as demanded by the laws of sonic vibrations, Toast could hear her sister fornicating with the Warboy all night and the sky was going blue now…morning was on it’s way in.

 

They’d been at it a long while.

 

_Hmmnnn…ah-h!_

 

Toast’s left eye twitched and she pursed her lips together, glaring at the bath she was sunken down in. The steam only covered up the real reason her cheeks were flushed. It felt wrong, but she could have just left and slept in the halls with the Warpups. Instead she stayed, listening despite the fact that somewhere within the minor waves of arousal, she was indeed disgusted. She’d never say that though, her disdain for the Warboy Nux was clear at times - too clear sometimes - but he made her sister happy.

 

_Mmnn…_

 

Very happy.

 

When the Vault went quiet Toast barely noticed it, her fingers had found their way between her thighs again, not for the first time. And she was momentarily busy, lost, concentrating on the elusive feeling of a completion she’d yet to experience. But she knew Capable had found it, knew it was why she’d been with the Warboy nearly every night since poor Cheedo had found them macking on each other in his new vehicle...in plain sight of the Warpups the poor girl had been touring through the garages.

 

Her lip curled at the thought of her sister, much too motherly at times, snogging all over the Warboy in plain sight of everyone - not an ounce of shame to be had. Inside her body her fingers prodded and a spike of pleasure made her jerk - water splashing - and then-

 

Capable’s door opened with a bang and she jerked around. The Warboy grinned from ear to ear, bare chested and sweaty with her sister laughing in his arms, leaning in to kiss his cheek like they were the only ones left in the wasteland. 

 

Quickly Toast pulled away from herself, sinking further into the water despite the fact it ran clear, but the Warboy never looked at her any way else but in acknowledgment. In fact, she’d have thought him incapable of it if she hadn’t witnessed him giving goo-goo eyes to her sister since the Road. Now they were going at it like something out of the word burgers. Dumb, romantic notions. 

 

“Sorry,” the Warboy said seeing the look on her face, still all grins. She gave them both the stink eye, sinking chin deep into the steamy water.

 

“Mind if me and Nux join you?”

 

“I was just leaving,” she bit.

 

“Tell your Warboy to turn around and I’ll leave you both to it,” she managed, not sounding bitter at all. Nux nodded like his head might fall off and twisted around with Capable, sharp enough she made a winded sound and giggled. Since when had her sister ever made those noises before the Warboy came along? 

 

When had she, Toast, ever giggled? There wasn’t a memory of it, not really. She’d laughed at people before, but it had never been out of enjoyment, more at her own insulting amusement. She slid out of the bath, ignoring the way the water slid down her body - the way it teased her annoyingly. If she had a Warboy of her own there would be no reason for her body to be so strung out - if she…

 

“Hey, Warboy - Nux,” she called, idly tying a knot around her chest, sliding on layers of muddy-colored fabrics.

 

“Sister Toast.” Still the Warboy didn’t turn around, he seemed too preoccupied with Capable rubbing her nose on the light stubble growing on his jaw - she saw his arms tighten around her, letting her settle closer against him. He’d filled out since the Road...the muscles in his back were dense and corded. His shoulders didn’t quiver while he held her sister. He was strong, most of them were strong now and not like they were before. They were healthy, or getting there at least.

 

“What was that Warboy you were visiting called?”

 

“Togs?”

 

“No, the one with the burns.” She’d not gotten a look at him, but she remembered how Nux talked about him, fondly - like she would of her sisters.

 

“Slit, my Lancer,” there was too many smiles in the Warboy’s voice nowadays. Too much happiness and pleasure - it made Toast’s lip curl as she wrapped a metal-dimpled shawl over her head, knotting it loose under her chin.

 

“That one…” she whispered, wondering how bad the burns were and if they’d peeled and scarred yet.

 

She’d find out at any rate.

 

“I’m done,” she called, trying to ignore their breathy sounds and the sudden, eager rustle and sag of fabric. As soon as they hit the water, laughing, she huffed and made her way outside the Vault, leaving behind two Puppies to their water fight.

 

 _Waste of good bath water,_ if anyone asked her.

 

How was it possible for them to be so bloody giddy after a night like this? They were nothing but smiles, touches and laughs. _Pointless._ Toast couldn’t even really see how they could derive so much pleasure from each other either. But it was unmistakable that they did, somehow, and that at least sparked her interest.

 

She didn’t exactly avoid the dregs of the Citadel, where the Warboys kept themselves, she just didn’t have a reason to go there. It was the half of home she ignored easily, keeping busy with other things like the word burgers and her designs. It never occurred to her that she might see her schematics made real in steel and guzzoline if she ventured there. It never once crossed her mind, not until she found herself slinging an SKS Rifle over her shoulder, feeling her inner thighs rub against something puffy and swollen as she made her way down the stone spirals. She could use that as an excuse if any of the Warboys had the bollocks to ask her what her purpose was. _Hot rods,_ she’d warn.They didn’t even dare look at her when she crossed their paths though, so maybe an excuse would be pointless. 

 

A Milk Mother had to direct her when she found herself turned around, ascending the same stairwell she’d descended minutes ago. The dark hand of the women was soft when it touched her bare shoulder, steering her to a narrow corridor that opened into a network of pits and ladders. 

 

Hot rods were sparking in fits of yellow and orange. The sounds were heavy and the stink of musky Warboys and grease was so strong she had to hold herself against the wall to stop from buckling. Her head dizzy. 

 

It wasn’t hard to grow used to the smell, and the slight buzz in her head that followed it made her heart pound in something like excitement. Toast swallowed a lump in her throat at the sight of all the Warboys, some of them shoving Warpups into engine blocks with sharp long tools - wearing oversized goggles and dripping white sweat. There was no end to the ordered chaos. 

 

Tunnels opened up to more holes where a vehicle was being worked on, or water was being siphoned out of stone by tubes and cables, dripping down to form a deadly slick with the guzzoline and grease. Fractures of light filtered down from the hydroponics where she didn’t dare cross. 

 

True to her assumptions none of the Warboys spoke to her, but many of them looked, stared openly and one even grinned at her, flicking a forked-tongue like a poised snake. Toast avoided that one, hissing once when he tried to follow her, leering.

 

Some tunnels had signs, begging to question if they could even read. But then she remembered they worked on hot rods and understanding the schematics would be impossible without some knowledge of their letters. 

 

She hugged her SKS between breast and arm when a Warboy stopped to watch her, standing in the throng of bodies making their ways to and fro. A heavy, deep breath was all she needed to walk up to him, easing around busy Warboys and Warpups.

 

“I’m looking for Slit, you know ‘im?” she asked, throwing her voice like a brittle lance, watching the Warboys dirty face open like a word burger. He was shocked, surprised and maybe scared she had spoken to him. This she could handle - this made her lips turn wry and her heart ease. If they could fear her it would make her visits - if they became frequent - much easier. This Slit of Nux’s better have been worth the grim.

 

“Lizard King...yea, Sister. He goes upside for the Warpups. Trainin’ in the mornings...I can lead you,” when she nodded the fear drained from his face, and a grin broke out, making his lips look too much like skeletons teeth, but she bit her tongue to hold in anything like an insult and let him lead her up.

 

“Slit’s one of them immortals, like Nux. No one touches em’ anymore!” the Warboy said, stepping on the right patch of dry ground without looking, peering back at her when she hissed - trying her best to keep up with his wider strides and sure-footing. Toast didn’t know these tunnels, but this Warboy did, and despite his good intentions he wasn’t slow on her behalf. She had to be quick, but careful.

 

“Is that right?” she humored, looking at her feet and the ground, catching the Warboys back every other step.

 

“More so a’ Lizard King than before - scales now to match his cold blood,” his voice was painful, droll and thick like old grease, but Toast wasn’t really listening - it was hard when the ground became a long puddle, something like metal shavings working through the toes of her thongs. She paid attention to him as best she could through it, holding back a curse when she stepped in something squishy - like wet ashe.

 

“Through here,” he urged, waving her in, near bouncing on his feet. 

 

She frowned, picking up her loose fabrics to avoid the wet filth. Through a wide, rock and steel support opening was a carved dome, lined with metal weaves. It was huge, bigger than the first pit she saw. A cut hole in the top bathed the dome in dim morning light, while gas lanterns hung in the metal thatches along the walls. It was filled with older Warpups and Warboys, many of them suspended in cables from the ceilings; long poles with weights held in their hands. 

 

A training room then, she figured, eyes racing around the place. Thin beams were scattered around, many Warboys yelling for the smallest one to race along them, to not fall.

 

Toast searched for a Warboy covered in scales, but when her guide pointed up to a muscled Warboy lifting a Warpup into a harness, she couldn’t make out any scales, just layers of white war paint and a grease stained forehead. But as she watched closer, after Slit strapped the Pup in and slid down the rocky slope to splash in a puddle of water, she could make out the burns.

 

Her Warboy guide whistled then, a broken and sporadic sound, that made her grimace. She saw Slit’s attention immediately latch onto them and his eyes...or eye, land on her hard. His broken mouth didn’t grin, didn’t move - just his lone, bloody eye shifted on her. Toast didn’t like it at first, but the closer he came, nimble on his feet despite the slippery ground, the less she hated it and the more she craved it. 

 

This Warboy would do just fine, and if Nux liked him so much - well...the danger she could face felt miniscule in his relation to her sister’s puppy.

 

“Sister asked of you,” her guide explained, pointing to her with a black thumb. So he was like Nux in that respect, but this Warboy Slit had pale fingers, exposed through black gloves and metal braces - the hands of a Lancer not a Black Thumb.

 

Toast wondered if that would affect his ability with his fingers. Nux, based on the sounds Capable made, had dextrous fingers. Already Toast could feel herself second guessing her plan, but then...he spoke and she felt her insides hold tight.

 

“What’s a Toast want?” he grumbled - the grease on his forehead only pronounced the dip of his eyebrows harder, making his eye shine dark at her. This Warboy was tall too, as tall as Nux but heavier in the shoulders, arms thicker and covered in protruding veins. She ran her eyes down him, noting the breadth of his chest, hard slope of his abdomen and tapered hips. His pants were tighter than Nux’s, tighter than most of the Warboys. Better for him to balance on the back of a hot rod she assumed...but they also exposed more of him than she’d expected.

 

She swallowed, suddenly nervous - sweating too. These Warboys made her realize how small she was, but this one took it to another extreme. It was hard to shake off the feeling of being nothing more than a Warpup when he had to look so far down at her. He’d be better on his knees, but that idea made her clenched muscles feel like they were pulses with liquid heat.

 

Despite her nerves and the quiver in her lips she forced herself to smirk, pitting his expression back on him before she reach out to take his wrist, “You,” she whispered. 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Part Two (The Blood)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heavy thanks to babesabbath, twiggzzler, DahliaVanDare and Liisiko for their wonderful comments. Here is the second part to this endeavor.

 

 

 

 

Slit’s one bloodshot eye went wide and there was a second where he froze under hand before he jerked like she’d shoved a hot poker up his arse. She snarled harsh and went to close her hand on his forearm, instinct dictating to put her hand on him when it was clear he didn’t want it. 

 

He ripped himself away with a weird shriek that stopped the whole chorus of busy Warboys and their Pups, dead silent. Oddly enough he looked like she’d taken a knife to his bollocks with no warning. As if her touch had melted him - melted him worse even than the shiny scars, barely hidden by war paint, running like...like scales all over his body. _Some Lizard King,_ she snorted.

 

_What the bloody hell was his problem?_

 

“What are you doing?!” he demanded - sounding...frightened, confused? Not at all honored to have been chosen by her like she’d assumed.

 

Toast looked at him hard, looked to the silent throng around her and then to her Warboy guide who stood with his mouth hanging nearly off his jaw. She felt suddenly very, very small...

 

 _No one touched them._ Was that the issue?

 

This...was not the reaction she had expected. Her hand-picked Warboy was holding his arm, where she barely gotten a hold on him, staring at her like she’d cut him from throat to groin and he was just shy of bleeding out. What color he did have before was drained from his face...almost in an amusing sort of way, but then he sneered, teeth bared - the red of his gums standing out vibrantly from the background of white and black. His mouth, already damaged and stapled, twisted in disgust, or something like it. That - that look from him was what set her off.

 

“Oh, I see,” she hissed. “My touch repulses you? Is that it then? Or am I forbidden to lay a hand on some smeg of a Warboy?!”

 

“Smeg!? You’re touch?!” he bellowed in a hoarse, but loud voice. His shoulders went back and his chest went out, puffed up much like an overcompensating lizard. It was something she might have found interesting about him - the width and strength of his chest - if he hadn’t been such a kamikrazy smeg of course.

 

“What do you-” he raged, paused as if he’d gone soft in the head, then that eye narrowed and he growled, “how-you’re not suppose to-” Toast spat, pursed her lips and made herself as tall as possible, nothing compared to him...but enough to show him and the rest of them she wasn’t afraid. He growled, took a short jerking step forward, meeting her defiance with a slice of his own, invading her space. Slit hissed down at her, close enough she could feel his body heat, “Since when do Sister’s touch Warboys?” Capable did.

 

_And since when did Warboys piss themselves over a little touch of the hand?_

 

“You want to shred me?! You better hope you know how to use that gun, Toast the Knowing,” and then he spat at her feet, gaining a mixed reaction from the crowd of Warboys and Pups, all of them watching her now, even the ones hanging from the rafters with their poles held in their hands. They were waiting - they all looked afraid - waiting for the bomb to blow. Some looked chastised even, as though her only reason for being down here was to punish them and if it hadn't then it was now after she’d been spoken too in such a way. If that was true...if they really thought she meant to shred him, if Slit believed that with all his wild, misplaced fright, then she should apologize.

 

It hadn’t been her intention.

 

Instead of doing that though - the sensible thing, Cheedo would say - she tossed her rifle to the ground and went to grab at him again, missing by but a centimeter when he pulled back, wide-eyed. It might have been funny how obviously surprised by her he was, how she could easily imagine he’d never looked so scared of something as he did of her now. Toast just wanted to grab at him though - there was no real goal in mind anymore. Part of her just wanted to push him as far as he could go - snap him.

 

Some of the crowd started to shout and bark.

 

No one could tell her not to do something and expect that to be respected, especially when that reason was something stupid like this was. _No touching? Bollocks to that,_ she grinned.

 

Not to be denied she lunged for him, grabbing him hard around the middle, throwing them both to the ground, half submerged in a dirty puddle. Slit howled, arms immediately braced against the ground  when she crawled up him - taking advantage of the sudden opening. His body squirmed, trying to buck her off as she scrambled to sit on his stomach, grappling for him. _It wasn’t meant to be like this,_ she realized, as he rolled her back in the puddle, trying to pry her off him with hard grunts and snapping teeth. She didn’t mean to end up kicking him in the ribs, or send him on his side so she could force his arm back - her bare legs wrapping around one of his, latching her full weight on his so he couldn’t stand - shaking with the effort.

 

And she definitely didn’t plan on having Furiosa and her older Warboys pull her off him like she was some crazed smeg, hungry for a morsel of flesh. 

 

The look on Slit’s face though, the unbelieving shine in his good red eye and slack jawed expression, she’d planned on something like that and when she grinned wide down at him, so caught up in the pounding adrenaline soaking her lungs, her arms held back and her clothing half-unraveled, wet and filthy - she saw his lips quirk and a feral grin twist his cheeks into a terrible mess.

 

They were both panting, soggy and sore. She could hear Furiosa barking orders to her Warboys as two parted from behind to pull Slit back to his feet. The Lizard King only smacked their hands away, hissing, bringing himself up to his feet - eye hot on her. Toast noted a trail of blood running from one of his nostrils. 

 

A bubble of red at the corner of his mouth popped, leaking down his chin as he broke into a kamikrazy chuckle, followed by a title that made her knees weak, “Toast the Krazy.”

 

She groaned, grinned - sucking air through her teeth - and spat at his feet as they dragged her away, yelling back _“Smeg King, I’ll find you!”_  

 

Her only response from his was barking laughter. She caught a short glimpse of him rubbing at the spot where she kicked him, still grinning and heaving, still with that bloody eye on her through the thickening crowd - promising something she wanted, needed...craved.

 

 _Yes,_ Toast knew, _he’d do just fine._

 

It wasn’t until later in the day, close to night that she realized how much her body ached after her little skuffle with Slit.

 

Her ankle was swollen, an elbow was red-raw and a litter of bruises painted her hip and ribs. She wanted to wear them all like a badge - twirl like The Dag down the halls naked and swaying, showing them to everyone. It was the first time in her life she had felt a real, unabashed sense of joy. Her blood had been racing and just the feel of him all over her was a pleasure in and of itself. Maybe none of it had happened like she’d expected, but she smirked to herself at the memory of his breathless grin. He’d had fire in his eye.

 

She’d shown them all she wasn’t a weak, fragile thing. Just because she was a Sister, or she was small...she could take down a Lancer if she wanted. Toast had taken down the Lizard King himself.

 

The rush in her belly at the notion made her twist around in her clothes, curling her fingers in the loose ends and sink her teeth within her lip to hold in a groan. Her insides felt empty, and she’d tried to stroke the ache with her fingers earlier but it had done very little but jack her up more.

 

Now she was trapped within the ends of her clothes, panting softly; desire flowing between her thighs, recalling the strange texture of Slit’s skin sliding on her own. Even though it had been wet with muddy water, gritty with war paint and something slick like sweat she grew hot in her core with the memory.

 

It wouldn’t be long before Capable and her Warboy joined together in her room again. Soon Toast would be lying here with the sounds echoing off the stone, stirring her up even worse than she already was. Soon she’d be a mess and then she’d get angry and do something brash again. Maybe she’d sneak into that Warboy Slit’s bunk and drag noises from him, similar to those Nux made. Or maybe he’d eagerly coax them out of her.

 

Liquid pooled below again and she shifted her thighs in it, feeling a warm wave of pleasure; heavy and desperate. Her bottom lip was raw from worrying it - the taste of copper on her tongue when she licked at it. The room was dark by the time she heard her sister and her Warboy. Capable’s footsteps were soft taps on the stone floor, while Nux’s belts clacked and something in his pockets chinked together. Soft and loud. Didn’t matter though, in a bit her sister would start up with her nightly chorus and Toast would be stuck listening to it.

 

It didn’t take long for the first soft sound to reverberate in her room. Even less for her to feel that cloying need again, even deeper and tighter than before. 

 

“They’re killing me…” she cursed on an exhale, tossing and turning in her bed until she flung herself to the floor with a yelp. For a second the sounds stopped, but it was short lived and she was still picking herself off the floor when the noises started up again, even louder, accompanied by a rhythmic thumping that was unmistakably the Warboy thrusting his hard thing inside her sweet sister. She had to get out of here.

 

So she went to the hydroponic gardens, finding only silence and no solace.

 

The gas lanterns were low now that the sun had gone down, soon there would be nothing but blue refracted darkness to mimic the night indoors. Right now it was better than lying awake in bed with the sounds and the resulting sensations in her gut. 

 

“What are you doing out here?” The Dag called - so melodical it hurt. Toast didn’t even turn around, just shrugged as she picked her feet up on the bench, holding her ankles with a frown. The green things - the plants were fruiting with red berries, some so fat they were stretching their stems...some of them dripping condensation as they night grew cold.

 

“Is it the pains?” her sister asked, closer.

 

“What pains?”

 

“Cheedo’s blood came this morning, you’ll be getting yours soon then...you’re always moody when the pain comes.”

 

“I’m not moody - and I’m not in pain,” she argued, thumbing her swollen ankle, feeling it throb and finding some perverse enjoyment from it. _Some pain..._

 

“Different pain then,” Dag begged arguing, but Toast was feeling less like chatting than usual. It felt strange being so high-strung in her gut with her sister so close. “Cheedo told me you fought a Warboy in the pits this morning, you’re elbow’s bloody.”

 

Toast rose it to eye-level, watching a bead of blood slid under her arm. So she was, and yet she didn’t feel it, only felt empty inside - needy and tight. Soon she’d start her cycle too, which put her in an even fouler mood. It was just what she needed - to be so jacked and then forced into a constant state of sticky, achey annoyance for a week. Not to mention it would be a good four or five days before she could fuck that Warboy, or convince him to - though something about the Lizard King’s grin told her it wouldn’t be so hard after all. Then again she’d thought it’d be as easy as dragging him into one of the empty hangers and shucking off their clothes. Seems the Warboys, or at least Slit anyway, was harder to coerce than she previously anticipated.

 

Knowing her luck the smeg would want to fight her again...or maybe he preferred the company of his fellow Warboys to that of a woman.

 

“I’d warn you not to go back, but you wouldn’t listen,” Dag had that right. If she even dared tell her not to that would only guarantee Toast went back there.

 

“Capable gets a Warboy of her own, she seems happy enough. We can’t all have them thrown at us,” she groused, hugging her ankles, enjoying the sharp twinge of pain. “Some us have to go get one ourselves.”

 

“You speak about them like objects.”

 

Toast only shrugged, uncomfortable with her sister’s easy way of picking her clean - like a buzzard.

 

“They’re not things, same way we’re not. You need to treat them like the humans they are.”

 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” but maybe she did. Toast remembered the way she’d grabbed for him, like he was something shiny she’d picked out to be played with. Maybe that was wrong, maybe she’d gone about it backwards. After all, it wasn’t just the physical intimacy that seemed to make her sister so happy - it was everything else that came with it, or perhaps the fucking came with whatever it was they had. Love? But that felt dumb when she tried to voice it. 

 

“Well, how would go about courting a dumb Warboy then?” she asked, looking back to see her sister’s fingers curled gently around a plump berry. 

 

The Dag’s nose wrinkled, as if she’d smelt something foul before rolling a shoulder - shrugging, “Why don’t you ask the one with the Warboy? I’ve no interest in courting - my seedling’s on it’s way. Like I’d have patience for any of that anyways.”

 

Toast stared over at her sister’s hand - pale and thin - rest gently on the large swell of her stomach.

 

She was further along than Angharad had been. The thought put her in a foul mood, worse than before, but the annoying ache between her legs was all but gone now, so that was something. The lanterns started to dim further as the night came, but she didn’t move to leave, just crossed her legs and let her shoulders relax. Her spine fell straight and she laid her hands on her knees, closing her eyes with a soft exhale.

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

Toast nodded, eyes still closed, making her breath come slow and even - deep and invigorating. She felt her sister’s body lower down beside her, folding into a similar position with a heavy breath. It was hard to expunge the image of Slit, grinning bloody and gasping on the ground, from her mind’s eye, but after seconds or minutes the calm draped itself within her, around her. It lapped like a ripple of water over her nerves, filling her body with a cool sense of peace. 

 

Sometimes her mind wandered back to the Lizard King - replaying her skuffle through a filter of detachment - and then she’d drift back into nothingness. Relaxed.

 

It didn’t last long - the peace. After awhile she heard her sister shift and rise, quietly leave her to her shelter, but as sweet as it was to be left undisturbed to her solace Toast couldn’t reach the calm again. She needed to find that Warboy and not make such a mess of it as before. There was little doubt she’d find it impossible to apologies to him, but maybe she could feign some interest in his skills. Men liked compliments and Warboys were still men.

 

Plus, he had her SKS Rifle...and she planned on getting that back at least.

 

_It had to work...it would work._

 

This Lizard King, Slit was in for a surprise. Toast was not a Sister to be denied.


	3. Part Three (The Cliff)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heavy thanks to apathys_whore, babesabbath, Zoadgo, Liisiko and ih for their wonderful comments and pointers. Here is the third part to this endeavor. Enjoy!

 

 

 

Barely any of them were asleep, even though the moon had been out for hours. Toast didn’t have a watch - had never found one that worked - but she was fine telling time on her own.

 

It was at least ten at night and yet the Warboy’s side of the Citadel was as loud and alive as when she’d been there in the morning. Little Warpups were passing back well-used tools, wiping away grease that spilled from sweaty Warboys and racing past her with all assortment of supplies, heedless in their quest. It was an endless line of output and it was one thing to know how hard they all worked - it was another to see it, especially in the dark of the night with their lanterns turned up high, buzzing and reeking and near bursting with heat.

 

And it was hot. Toast felt beads of sweat gather on her brow, dampening her clothing with time the further she tread. She remembered the path she followed before, well enough at least and she only took the wrong tunnel twice, refusing to stop and ask again. The looks she got were odd, and she didn’t care to hear what would come out of those bottomless eyes and open, expressive faces. Even with the paint she could almost hear their feelings on their faces when they peered down and up at her.

 

There was no Lizard King in the training pit, but then again there weren’t many Warboys or their Pups here either. 

 

“Sister Toast!”

 

A wrinkled Imperator called behind her, an older one she didn’t recognize even with his pink cracked scar running down the middle of his chest, or the large nut breaking the black grease paint swathed over his forehead. Furiosa said the paint made them all feel safe - something to cling to when their world changed, but Toast still couldn’t understand it. They looked the same as when Joe held their leashes...

 

“What?” she asked, perturbed to be called out, especially with the few occupants of the pits stopping their work to stare outright at her now, watching from the tops and bottoms alike. It didn’t feel as heavy as when a whole pit-full of them had been watching her that morning but the feeling was more personal with less of them.

 

“Furiosa won’t like you being here,” he looked her up and down, an inspection that made her fingers twitch, wanting to reach around and cover herself. “You ain’t got no gun neither - they good boys now, not to say they’d ever shredd one like you, but gun’s better than no gun. You hear me?”

 

“I do,” she said through her teeth - trying to find her calm as the Imperator eyed her from both sides, shifting on his feet as if she had a weapon tucked away somewhere on her; hidden. Would he check up her arse for one too? She frowned, taking a step back and leveling her shoulders, “Looking for that Lizard King again, know where I can find ‘im?”

 

“...ah, probably being cut on.”

 

 _Cut on?_ She blinked, feeling a little sick suddenly - feeling her stomach ache in the way it did every month. _Not here,_ she prayed, prayed like the Dag but silent, as this Imperator practically sniffed around her.

 

“Never seen a Sister up close. Very shiny indeed,” he kept his hands away, only looking and if Toast knew any better she’d see how innocent the looks were, but Toast only knew leering and glares from men so she shoved the nosey Imperator back with a quick jab to the shoulder, growling.

 

“Piss off!”

 

He looked stunned for a second, if that was it. Then he glared, sniffed up something wet in his nose and pointed to a narrow, darkened hallway, “You want to finish you’re shreddin’? Slit’s in there. Vuvalini’s made him good and soft for ya’.”

 

She held her elbows tight, an expression of discomfort she would have preferred to not show, but the Imperator only sneered at her, turning on a heel to leave. Alone but for a few Warpups and Warboys watching her with less fixation and more a mild curiosity now. One of the Pups made a V8 salute to her on high, but an older Pup slapped the back of his head, ‘tisking’ him. It wasn’t violent - it was...she couldn’t put a word to it, but something about it she liked, so she smiled without thinking and the little group started to jump on their perches, hooting like crows.

 

Something about it made her warm, made the ache in her belly settle - it even calmed her nerves, making the slippery walk through the dim hallway easier than it should have been.

 

Cheedo had described this place to her before, but it felt smaller than she would have pictured. A long stone bench was filled with half asleep Warboys, attached to bags of blood...some attached to other healthy Warboys - one of them sketching with charcoal on a large piece of cardboard. An engine maybe? Toast only knew weapons and bullets, but whatever the Warboy was drawing seemed impressive from where she stood.

 

The Organics. It stank of rot - of blood and something sharp, burning in her nostrils. 

 

“Hey,” Toast called, looking over at a Warboy halfway through a bowl of something green, dark and mushy. He looked like the healthy one, next to a young Warboy curled up on his side, boney back to her on the bench. She swallowed at the sight of his spine protruding through his unpainted skin.

 

“Sister?” the one with the bowl asked, looking up at her - staring at her like she were the sun. A bloom of something like red grew in his cheeks, like one of The Dag’s flowers. “You brought down the Immortal Slit, I saw you’s this mornin’,” he grinned, some green stuff stuck in his teeth but she forced a smile or something that could have passed for one. The Warboy lit up, his back going straight.

 

“What can I do for you, Sister?” even his words came out smoother when she smiled. Oddly enough all it took was a show of good faith to see something different in them.

 

“I was looking for him, the Immortal...Lizard King - whatever. They told me he’d be here, getting cut on.”

 

The Warboy nodded seriously, “They took the lump off this time.” Toast didn’t recall any lumps on him when she’d had him on the floor...but it happened so fast...or perhaps they had been under his pants - hidden away. For a moment she felt sick again - the ache returning but the sweat cooling on the back of her neck, just at her hairline. It itched, taking her mind off the lick of nausea. Was it her cycle coming or the thought of Slit with disease running where she hadn’t seen it? If it was about Slit then was she more concerned or disgusted?

 

“Is he...awake? Where’d they put him?”

 

The Warboy shrugged, poking at the mush in his bowl, looking over at an open doorway. Pale, white light was flooding out, igniting dusty particles floating in the air. There was the quiet chant of metal and voices through there, but something about it made her hesitate. Abigail, one of the Vuvalini had taken over the Organics, proving the old way - older than the death of the world - had done what the Organic Mechanic could never do. The clean water and regular food did the rest.

 

Toast turned back to the line of sick Warboys, or at least it was better than before…

 

“He still has your rifle,” the Warboy said, staring up at her from under black painted brows, one speared with a hook. “Was saying you’d come back for it. Said he’d make you take it back.”

 

“I will,” she mumbled, shifting as a twinge in her belly raced deep down within her. “What’s your name, Warboy?”

 

He smiled, something wide and childlike despite his ghastly appearance. They were all like that to an extent. They all had a bit of innocence to them, somehow...like Nux a little, but none of them seemed remotely close to him in spirit or charm. Not even Slit, though Toast had to admit she was attracted to the Lizard King for different reasons. She did, however find herself caring about his wellbeing, and not in a purely selfish way either. A thought she found unwanted...unfamiliar too.

 

“My name’s Squee,” it made no sense to her, but this Squee seemed pleased to give her his name, so she smiled, nodded and ventured into the white room, holding her breath like she was about to dive underwater.

 

The room wasn’t white, but there were enough papers nailed to the walls to give it a light patina. The rest of the place was a maze of cabinets, books, jars, potted shade plants, empty beds and things Toast had no name for. Further down at the rooms end she could make out hundreds of dried green things hanging from the rafters built into the rock. The room smelt of lavender, but under that was the odor of death, blood and bile.

 

Her instinct told her to turn and run - not look back. But the distant, harsh tone of Abigail pulled her in.

 

_“Hold still or I’ll snap ya’. You got me, Boy?”_

 

The Vuvalini wasn’t so old, but she showed no patience for the Warboys, of that Toast knew. The old one’s didn’t care for men, but they still took care of them, treated them and helped bury them in Dags gardens if they went out soft. But they could bark and bite if needed.

 

The old woman was threading a needle into a muscled Warboy - his back to Toast.

 

It took only a second for her to recognize the Warboy, the faint hint of a bruise ghosting the side of his ribs. She’d caused those broken blood vessels and the remembrance made her insides clutch at nothing; eager and wet.

 

“What are you doing down here child?” Abigail knew she was there without the old woman having to look up. It was eerie.

 

The Warboy seemed to perk up, twisting sharply on his arse, throwing that red eye of his on her like a weapon. She forgot about the Vuvalini when his cheeks twisted up in a toothy grin. He was devoid of warpaint but still so pale. The bare patch where that thick dome of grease paint had been before made him look less threatening. Somehow.

 

Blue veins broke out from under the hem of his pants and out along the places his muscles were larger than expected, mainly branches up his arms and neck. Her rifle was resting in his lap, one large, scarred hand rest over it. Toast frowned without thinking. The SKS was her excuse, she told herself. Then she remembered something Nux had said a long time ago, when they first found Slit trudging his way back to the Citadel, burned, bloody and rotting. Nux told her they found him clinging to the burnt remains of his scarf - a ratty thing he’d had since a Warpup. Not even Nux knew what it meant, only said he’d gone kamikrazy when no one could find it for him once he’d woken up from his wounds.

 

Toast thumbed the knot in her shawl - hearing the gentle clink of the metal dimples Cheedo had woven in the fabric.

 

“My rifle. I’m here for my rifle” she told Abigail, taking a few steps forward, stopping only a meter from the Lizard King and his hot eye. The grin on his lips had fallen into a smirk - like he’d won some battle of will with her. Her coming to him and all...

 

“Come and get it,” Slit hissed.

 

Abigail threaded the needle into his arm with an unnecessary jerk of her wrist, “That anyway to speak to a Sister?” 

 

Slit only sneered and pulled his arm back. Blood dribbled out the bend of his elbow and he tongue at the corner of his lips, smirking again.

 

“She likes it,” was what he said, rolling his tongue along his lower lip almost lewdly. His lips twitched when the Vuvalini snorted back, poking the needle around in his flesh to find the vein. A sudden expression of exhausted agitation formed on his naked face. 

 

There should have been a snarky response at his comment, but Toast couldn’t find anything to say. From up close she could see a raw line of stitching down his right ear, curling to the back of his neck. Some blood crusted the edges and without thinking she went to brush them away - the Warboy nearly fell out of his chair, jerking away from her touch so violently the needle ripped out of his arm, flipping blood up over his stomach and across her thighs - warm and thick.

 

She blushed, which she thought herself incapable of as the Vuvalini cursed, struggling to clamp down on the tube of leaking blood.

 

“I’m- _bollocks…_ ” the apology got caught in her throat, but the curse came out easy like always. The sudden tension tasted like ashe in her mouth.

 

Slit was breathless, panting like a mongrel, bracing the half-rotten chair between them. That one, red eye was on her thighs, lowering down as the hot blood slid past her knees. Then he stared back up at her, a look of prime ready on his face - ready for a fight.

 

In that moment she felt her own blood flow, pooling between her legs, soaking the fabric and ripping at her insides with a sudden throbbing wave of pain. Her nose wrinkle - her lips curled back and she reached for her stomach, wincing. _Not a good time,_ she noted wryly, seeing a strange flash of concern appear on Slit’s face, removing the bloodlust.

 

“Toast the Krazy,” he said her name, his new title for her like a question, “little thing too small to shred me. You come to bleed me instead?!” his expression didn’t match his words, but she shook her head, ignoring the Vuvalini as she threw ruined, red tubing on an empty bed, walking off with a loud string of curses. What blood remained inside leaked into the stained sheets, catching her gaze.

 

“No,” Toast grumbled, “I want my rifle back...and I…” her stomach contracted again, more of her body leaking. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment, trying at once to apologise and also not bleed out herself. He had a hand on his arm, a tight grip halting the bleeding - her bleeding on the other hand...she squeezed her thighs together hard, groaning. The action seemed to force Slit’s spine to go straight. His eyes to darted between her legs, her face, back and then up. That would have excited her before, but the sticky mess had begun and she felt disgusting.

 

“Just accept my bloody apology! We can start over and I won’t touch you without asking, happy?” she was flushed by the end of her short tirade, but Slit still looked like she hadn’t said anything. Still darting his eye up and down, looking all the more confused.

 

“Well?” she demanded, moving her hip to the tabletop when the cramps picked up and her knees went dumb. The hard edge brought her focus to the forefront.

 

“No.”

 

Toast blinked, “No? What do you mean ‘No’?!”

 

She watched him stand up to his full height, step close enough she could smell whatever they’d doused him in prior to cutting on him, something sharp and burning. Her throat felt dry. Hunched against the table as she was she was even smaller than usual. When he took another step closer she jabbed him in the chest, pushing him to a stop. It was a reflex, truly.

 

“You said no touching without asking,” he wore a shit eating grin when she peered back up and it made her fingers on her right hand turn into a fist. Oh, it would have felt good to smack him in his ruined mouth, but she didn’t, just held her stance while he looked her over. 

 

After a minute of his staring and Abigail shuffling outside her view, she muttered, “I’m sorry for that then too.” One of his eyebrows arched, pulling with it the corner of his mouth.

 

With an even breath she continued, “Normally people have personal space...” She was aware of how bloody hypocritical that was of her to say, but little too late to take it back now.

 

“Say’s you. A pup-sized girl who put her hands where she wants them,” he grinned.

 

She nodded, pursing her lips, grumbling when he only chuffed down at her. There were many a colorful word she wanted to say to him, but she conceded instead, “Yea, I get it. Just, sit back down - and give me my rifle back.”

 

To her surprise he handed it off to her. Her eyes fell to the dried blood on his arm, but went back to her rifle when a muscles in his bicep bulged. She took her weapon back slowly - careful, watching something in his eye shift and she stared up at him. Toast wondered if he’d ever been with a woman before, if he’d ever been with anyone...or if he even cared too. A strange thing to think suddenly...

 

“Are you done here?” she asked, never looking away from his eye. The pupil was misshapen, but his iris was a golden hue amidst a sea of dead blood. The other eye looked like it’d been taken out, the eyelid sewn shut and well past sealed by scar tissue.

 

Without the paint it was easier to see a great deal of his life. The staples, well fused with his flesh still looked pink around the edges, as if they were still raw and oddly fresh. The web work of blue veins growing from beneath his pants worried her, but they looked old, like some kind of scar she wasn’t familiar with. But all the imperfections covered a well-honed body, and that was something Toast was drawn to...at first solely, now something else was interesting her. Though she couldn’t pinpoint what exactly.

 

“Why?” - suspicious.

 

She couldn’t blame him, but she shrugged, slinging the strap of her rifle over a shoulder, “Company I guess, plus, you got blood in my fancy drag. You owe me.”

 

“You did that yourself.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” she wanted to spit at his feet again. It seemed to work on him last time, but maybe a little reverse psychology would work too.

 

Toast was halfway out the room when she heard his heavy steps behind her, walking too close despite her demand of personal space. Honestly, she minded very, very little. It wouldn’t do to look too smug when she passed the rest of the Warboys and the Warpups, so she bit her lip to hide most of her enjoyment.

 

Slit, the Lizard King, was following like a pup at her heels and it was exhilarating.

 

As she walked she licked the ends of her clothes, wiping down the dried blood from her legs, pausing frequently to get at the harder bits, much to Slits annoyance - he’d grumbled and growl she’d bite her lip harder. Sometimes she’d pause suddenly and he’d bump into her arse, jerking back enough that he almost fell into a group of stalking Warpups.

 

They gathered a large trail of curious Warboys and Pups as he followed her out the pits. One by one they seemed to put down their happenings to stalk after them, muttering questions under their breaths.

 

“You’re gone then,” it was a statement but sounded much like a question. Slit was staring down at her, past her face when she turned around. 

 

“Permission to touch?” she asked, jittery fingers picking at the knot under her chin.

 

“What for?”

 

The knot fell loose and she slid it off her head, feeling the cool air thread itself through her hairs. The sensation was relaxing, but the look she saw on his face threatened to ruin any calm she’d collected. The gathering of Warboys and their Pups was hard to ignore but they did little but stand around and watch. _They were just curious,_ Toast told herself.

 

She waited, silent, remembering what Dag said. They are not things. He’s not a thing. None of them are any more. She couldn’t treat him like one, but it was hard to distinguish the difference in her thoughts and actions sometimes, even though a part of her knew it shouldn’t be.

 

Treat him like she’d want to be treated. That’s all. _Not so hard right?_

 

“Do it then,” he told her, finally.

 

Toast took her shawl, twisted it around her palms, feeling her heart race in her throat. She reached up onto her toes, tossing the metal weighted material over his neck. It was a feeling more than a seeing when he tensed, losing that body of confidence as she wound the material in a loose loop, shifting it along the thick cords of his neck as a sweat broke out on her brow. This time, when her knuckles skimmed his throat, she saw him shudder - felt the hot exhale of his breath on her face. Toast felt another flood of blood pool between her legs as she balanced, giving the thin ends a tight knot at the hollow of his throat.

 

It looked ridiculous…

 

But when he looked at her she felt...something - saw something there that was probably gratitude or awe...but she looked away, afraid to name it. “For the one you lost,” she mumbled, uncomfortable under such an intense look. She didn’t dare look at the crowd of Warboys...

 

“You’re bloody,” he said, cutting like a blade through whatever had formed. Slit even pointed to her damp crotch, further sucking the heat from her bones. A sticky smear glazed from between her thighs, soaking into the earthy linens. 

 

“Nux told me about this,” he said, angry. “You need a blood bag.”

 

“Ugh,” she groaned, all hot cheeks and clenched thighs as she walked off. But the Lizard King’s steps followed close behind.

 

“You can go now, I know my way back,” her words were nothing short of a warning.

 

“You need a blood bag,” he repeated, a growl at the end.

 

“I said I got it. I don’t need a blood bag...I’ll find you later. Make yourself less hard to find next time,” but he didn’t leave, instead she felt his calloused hand on her wrist, pulling her to a stop, but she jerked, furiously pulling back.

 

They collided.

 

Toast’s tender breasts bounced against his chest, sending a jolt straight to her core - the pain fled and she was left hungry again. So hungry - starving enough that she whispered, “...fuck it,” and pulled at his shoulder. He resisted only a fraction of a second, maybe more from her sudden touch than the touch itself, before letting her drag him down for a violent, sloppy kiss that was in no way ideal...but still immensely gratifying.

 

Her blood ignited like guzzoline.

 

Slit hissed, shivered and ripped his mouth away from her. Toast struggled to breath for too long, pulling in lungfuls that tasted like him; bitter, rough, smoked - fire. But nothing eased her spinning mind in the slightest. He tugged hard on her wrist - hard enough she yelped, not thinking clear. Her back hit a stone wall, his teeth in her lip. A snarl from him made her knees go weak, but he pulled her up with a hand under her arse, fingers on blood soaked fabric that shot pleasant shivers up her insides. He kissed her back, unpracticed and hard. It was more bite than kiss, but it felt really, very bloody good...and she could work with it. Toast could work with this.

 

Heart racing, chest tight - she picked herself up by his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his narrow waist, hitching herself against his stomach, kissing him back just as hard. The wrist he had in his hand was lifted up, making her breasts mold to his naked chest. Blood on her tongue and the taste started a flow of pleasure to fall down to her belly, soak in deep and center between her thighs.

 

 _Moon be praised_ , she bucked against him, gasping as he thrust back into her. 

 

A knot at her apex was rubbed, something she didn’t know had been there. Distantly she heard Warboys shuffling and biting out words, maybe even watching. She couldn’t see them to be sure, only Slit’s face was her sight. Desperately she rubbed herself along his hard abdomen, curling up so that spot was rolled around with each turn of their hips.

 

His teeth skated her lips. His tongue licking up the corners of her mouth before she pushed his lips at an angle with hers, sliding her tongue along his teeth and between. Like molten metal - blazing hot.

 

It was strange. It was nothing like she thought it would be. Soon she wasn’t thinking at all though, just hissing and grinding against him; frenzied. And when he let her wrist go, possessing her hips tight in both his hands to take her small body, Slit rubbed her in a short, hard circles against him, thrusting up to create a pressure so deep and blinding...

 

Toast gave a throaty hiccup...and then...then she - she found the cliff. And jumped.


	4. Part Four (The Claim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

Toast was dazed - elated. She was higher than she’d ever been, slouched between two solid things. Stone and flesh. Her head fell forward, forehead wet on Slit’s shoulder. He was moving, sliding an arm under her arse, hefting her up until she could taste the sweat on his neck. Mindlessly she licked at him, tasting the sour flesh unmarred by war paint as the furious clack of metal and fabric tried to penetrate the cotton in her ears. 

 

There was a sudden jerk underneath her. Her tailbone banged back against the stone, cutting through some of her euphoria but it was the sound of smacking flesh and the chaos going on under her that fulling plucked her from the daze. It took a loud groan from her Warboy to get her mind functioning again and when the thoughts did come she realized he was jerking himself off, one handed underneath her, still pinning her to the wall. Sniffs and hot breathes made her neck sweat, but she only let the motion of his self-pleasure rock her gently against him - bewildered.

 

Something about it created another pleasure inside her - maybe not near as powerful as her first orgasm, but gratifying. Was it enjoyment in another's pleasure that gave her this feeling? No telling, really.

 

All she knew was that she liked it - liked it enough that she found herself massaging the tension in the back of his neck, under the shawl she’d tied around him, tongue running under his jaw and was rewards for her efforts with a violent shiver. The groan he released when she bit at his chin was desperate, and vulnerable, nothing like she’d have expected from him. It preceded a sob, as if he had something stuck in his throat and then he howled, sporadic and krazy.

 

“...holy V8!”

 

Through his vicious sounds she could hear the soft splattered of his seed hitting the wall underneath her. A gush of moist air tickled the fine hairs on her neck, making her spine tingle.

 

All the while the Warboys and the Pups had been watching, silent and enraptured. It took her til now to actually look at them through hazy eyes over Slit’s shoulder. She tightened her legs around his waist when a few of them gave her eager eyes - maybe thinking they’d get a turn...but suddenly she was gathered up in two strong arms as Slit twisted, facing the crowd.

 

“Fang off! The lot of you mediocre smeg-piles,” Toast could hear their pants jingle, some of them hissed and one sounded like he was stepping closer.

 

She peered behind her, catching the sight of one of them approaching with a forked tongue flicking between his teeth. Something like dred hit her stomach, but it didn’t last long. Soon she found herself set on her feet, wobbling slightly while Slit rushed the Warboy. His pants were loose on his hips, and when he slugged the Warboy on the side of the neck she saw his flaccid cock slap against his clothed thigh. 

 

It was big...and that, oddly enough, worried her more than the sight of him taking the Warboy to the ground, wrestling loudly in the dusty ground like two hungry animals. Toast thought for a second they might start fucking, but then Slit had the other Warboy’s arms twisted behind his back, a knee on his spine and spit wet on his lips.

 

“I’m the one who got permission! I’m touching. And I said fang off!” he leaned down, heaving with his mouth on the Warboy’s ear, grinning madly, “or I’ll shredd you ‘till you piss your teeth out.”

 

Toast watched Slit bite the Warboy’s ear, drawing blood and a strangled cry from him. It was an intimate sight…

 

The Warboy didn’t get up from the ground when Slit got back on his feet, and she never watched him long enough to see him move. Though she did watch Slit grasp his half-hard cock, detailed the sight of it - pale, thick...long - as he slid it into his pants, wrapping it up behind a swath of leather and two tightly strapped buckles. Her blood smear was dirtied and dusted by the ground, but still vivid against his skin.

 

The Warboy was still on the ground, curled up on his side, holding both hands to a mangled ear when Slit picked her up like a small Warpup. She was rested on his hip, more of her blood staining his skin. Her legs dangled, useless now that she wasn’t having to stand on them. In another situation she’d have clocked him for treating her like a Pup, but it was nice not to walk...sort of.

 

The whole thing felt like a dream, Toast decided blearily. She slid an arm around his shoulder, holding on while he walked her out of the dregs. Between her legs she felt hot and pleased, but still sticky. Toast also found herself speechless, though she was aware enough to pray no one saw them like this. No rules against her and him - no one to answer to anymore - but she still wasn’t keen on the questions. There was already a whole pit full of Warboys that would be spreading the news like the skuffle prior.

 

 _What would they say now?_ _They hadn’t breeded...would they call him a Wife or a Brother?_ He had too many names already. One more would fill his head with more hot air than was already there, and he’d float away on a cloud of his own ego. The idea was laughable, but...he truly couldn’t be more full of himself, especially now. Even without looking at him she could see a proud grin out the corner of her eye.

 

Tonight was either the free decision she’s ever made of the dumbest. 

 

When the walls lost their dark patina, brightening up into a creamy yellow, she found her voice, “You can put me down now. I’m fine to walk.”

 

“You’re bleeding. You don’t want a blood bag? Fine - but no walking. You’ll just bust your head.”

 

It almost felt like she was...cherished, if not vaguely insulted. Normally being treated so fragile would set her blood to boiling but this - this made her dizzy like the high he’d given her. _By the moon,_ it felt so good and she hated herself for holding onto it as much as she did. It was any wonder Capable and Nux didn’t do this always. Night and day. Toast would have found an excuse anytime. Then again her body felt boneless and she was grateful she wasn’t walking. She’d have to wait ‘til her blood stopped flowing to get him fawning over her like Nux did her sister. But Toast had no trouble waiting now.

 

All the energy had leaked out of her, like her blood was anyway. She’d have to wait.

 

Eventually her eyes fell closed, pulled under by the gentle rocking of her body against his and the distant pleasure his hip sparked between her legs. It really did feel very, very good. So good she couldn’t recalling falling asleep, and couldn’t remember the way he took to get them back to the Citadels center either. The pale moonlight sliding in from holes in the rock glittered with dust, painting everything the lanterns couldn’t touch in blues and purples.

 

“...where’s her bunk,” Slit growled, still thinking her asleep maybe or just talking to himself. It seemed like something he’d do.

 

“Just drop me off here. You’ll wake up my Sisters with those pants,” she muttered, shifting on his arm to be let down. He did so, set her down, but he did it slow, either to keep their contact that little bit longer or to make sure she had good footing. Both ways were too gentle for her think hard on them.

 

“I’ll take them off. I can make you do that thing again - the Warboy thing.”

 

“Hold on there,” she whispered, licking the ends of her clothes again, bringing the moistened tips to his stomach and hip where her blood stained him. All the while she could feel him vibrate under her touch. 

 

“I’d say we’ve had enough fun for one night,” she continued, only giving him a quick glance - sour expression, twisted cheeks and hot red eye - before going back to the blood, “And by the way, it’s not just a bloody Warboy thing. We can do it too. Better than any of you and many times over.” She was talking out her arse a bit on that last string of words, but Capable had told her enough for her to put assumptions together. Slit wouldn’t know the difference anyhow.

 

Under her firm rubbing her blood gave, laving him skin pink and irritated. It was faintly off-putting, but once it was gone she felt better.

 

The Lizard King, with a smug expression merely scoffed at her, “I can be quiet, more quiet than Nux. I’ll do it to you again if you can handle it, more times than you can count. You can put me on the floor after, I’m hardier than him too.”

 

Toast shifted, overwhelmed by his eagerness. Sure, it had something to do with him being excited about having a one up on Nux, but for that goal to involve bring her that sort of heightened pleasure until she couldn’t handle it anymore was...It was tempting, but her inner thighs were sticky and the blood that had dried felt disgusting. There was no interest in it anymore, at least not now that she was in the state she was in.

 

When she looked down between his legs, the shadows played off a hefty bulge. So he was ready again? Despite everything she thought of Joe - of how he’d endure so many injections just to get it up once and even then sometimes it didn’t work. But Slit...he was healthy. Not so much a half-life anymore. None of them were destined to die young. And so their bodies were young too...youth had it’s advantages it would seem.

 

“I’ll find you tomorrow,” she told him, smirking softly when his eagerness deflated, “try not to beat any poor Warboys with that huge cock of your's now,” and then she turned and left him standing there with her shawl tied around his throat, his red eye still hot on her and a low sneer on his face.

 

It had been the single, best night of her life she decided. And when she sank down in her bed, dirty and needing a bath terribly, she whispered his name and fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

 

Toast woke to The Dag speaking softly in the main chamber, her door open and the cool air flowing within the Dome kissing her skin, drying the leftover sweat from her time asleep.

 

“Her blood came in the night,” a short soft laugh “Try this one...only a few drops though. The Green Thumbs made it stronger this time.”

 

“It smells like lavender...it smells wonderful.”

 

“...mmm...the herbs grows like weeds. They spring up by morning and by night I have to cut their buds back. Purple and green.”

 

Toast rolls over on her back - the ache throwing down hard in her thighs as well as her belly. But it’s not so bad as the other times. Something about this morning is peaceful...and then she recalls her nightly activities and grumbles as her cheeks run hot. Who would have thought she’d turn into a blushing mess over a Warboy like Slit. He was...talented though and kind, in his own way. And something about last night made her morning not so awful. 

 

The state of denial she left him in had been almost as enjoyable as the other activities.

 

When she crawls out of bed, noting the absence of Nux, she disrobes and steps out into the chamber, nodding to Capable and The Dag. They both smile, but something in Capable’s eyes is knowing, not like The Dag’s who is all innocent care and affection.

 

“Smells good,” Toast said, ignoring Capable’s wide smile and wandering eyes. _She knows._ And Capable knows Toast knows that she knows too, which makes it so much more bloody worse when she steps down into the heated bath, perfumed with something strong and calming. Whatever The Dag has put in the water is at once cool on her skin and hot - the rest steams into her lungs, clearing her head and leaving a dreamy glow within her.

 

The Dag shuffles away, tossing a thin cloth over the back of a chair, nods to it and leaves. 

 

“You know I found her a few days ago with the blind one,” Capable tells her once The Dag has been gone long enough to start talking about her. Her sister sits down on the edge of the bath, lowering her feet into the water with a sigh, “She denied it, but my Warpups told me the truth. But I suppose me and her aren't the only ones entertaining our own love affairs.”

 

Capable smiles, nonthreatening but Toast feels threatened. For some reason she enjoys the idea of her and Slit remaining secret, for now at least. It’s like something out of the wordburgers - a knight and a princess, forbidden. Now Capable knows and it cuts a little excitement out of it.

 

“I’d rather you keep that information to yourself,” Toast says, sinking deeper into the water.

 

A few minutes later Toast looks back over at her sister, who's treading water happily. 

 

“Which Warboy is Dag wooing?” Toast asks, giving in to her curiosity. Capable grins, knowing she’s got her attention now.

 

“She’s the one being wooed I think. It’s the one that played the Doof...Coma - she told me his name was. I found her reading to him on the high tops. He gave her a flower…made out of wires...or scrap. Metal at any rate.”

 

 _Warboys liked gifts,_ Toast thinks, seeing Slit in her mind’s eye with her shawl wrapped around his neck, looking chuffed beyond belief.

 

“Why don’t you join me,” Toast asks, “it’s helping, I think.” _It is._  

 

“I’m not bleeding yet.”

 

“Lucky you then,” she mutters. Capable only shrugs, smiling softly before she shifts closer, enough that Toast knows she’s about to ask something personal - probably about Slit.

 

“You were with Slit last night.” - and here it comes - “Nux said he was waving your rifle around like a trophy...you weren’t in bed last night, so I figured you went to get it back,” her sister is happy, not gloating, of this Toast has to remind herself when she continues, “then I heard you and Slit coming back and it sounded like you two enjoyed yourselves. He’s an eager one too...like Nux I suppose.”

 

Toast remains silent, knowing she’ll keep talking if she doesn’t respond and not for the first time she wants to listen.

 

“It’s the best thing when it’s what you both want. Like dying maybe...transcending your mortal form for a brief moment, becoming something greater than you can be by yourself. I feel as strong as Nux when it happens - like I’ve become him...if that makes sense.”

 

“I think so,” Toast says, turning in the bath to get a good look at her sister. She’s flushed, but it could be from the steam grazing the water, or her thoughts of Nux and she’s staring off in the distance, lost in thought. Her emotions are bare - it’s the first time Toast has ever seen her face so naked and open. It’s like she can read the love she feels right off her skin.

 

“You love him then?” she asks, watching her sister’s cheeks go as red as her impossibly red hair.

 

“It’s different than the love I have for you, and Cheedo, The Dag...Furiosa and the Pups. It’s different, but it’s no less intense, sometimes,” Capable frowns, “...sometimes it’s more intense.”

 

She feels a little jealous about that, but Toast thinks she understands. Her fingers skim the water, leaving liquid grooves at the surface, trying to decipher how she feels about Slit. She doesn’t love him. What Capable described is not what she feels for Slit, but when she thinks about him it’s a good feeling. Toast thinks even without the sensations he’s helped her reach she’d enjoy the thought of him now. He’s egotistical yes, and an arsehole too...but he’s also hard-headed and confident - things she thinks she is too.

 

After her bath Capable helps her with the blood clothes, wrapping her tightly about the hips. The pressure helps the aches too.

 

“I’ve got some pants from the Pup’s,” she’s careful when she says it. Toast will deny it, but she’s always been a bit sensitive about her short stature. “You might find them a blessing if you bleed through again.”

 

Capable give her a knowing smile and Toast smirks back, “You’re gonna help me give the Warboy a stroke.”

 

Her sister shrugs, “From what Nux tells me, Slit will survive.”

 

“Well, we’ll see won’t we.”

 

Toast doesn’t think anything of Capable’s admittance about not bleeding until much later when she’s changing the sodden cloth between her legs around midday. Toast was always the last to start bleeding - always the last to stop. She goes still, wracking her brain for a time when that wasn’t the case, but she can’t think of one. Toast has always been a day or two behind the rest of them...which means...

 

Nux has gotten her with a sprog. Toast is sure of it. She doesn’t bleed because Nux’s seed took and Capable is pregnant. Her first response to this realization is to be offended, and then Toast recalls the way Capable spoke of him during her bath - at that she feels slightly jealous but excited too.

 

 _Took him long enough,_ she smirks, finding joy in the idea finally. Capable must know. Maybe it’s why she was so bright and vulnerable this morning. When Toast got her blood, it must have confirmed it for her. 

 

After changing into fresh clothes, pulling on the pants, strapping them high on her waist with a tight buckle she smiles. Soon Dag will give birth to a baby, girl or boy they’re not sure and before they know it Capable with have a sprog making her big and bloated. She throws a loose shirt over her head, tying the sleeves up to her shoulders before following a nearly familiar path to the pits.

 

Slit is there, right where she hoped he’d be - in the training pits, and it was easy to find him. Not a single Warboy stopped her, leered or stared too long, despite the pants. Many of them ducked their heads when she passed but all of them went quiet. They all knew. All of them, but Toast found it less uncomfortable and more empowering. What she and Slit had done felt good. _There was no reason for her to feel ashamed,_ she reminded herself.

 

When Slit sees her, up high on his stone podium, he shoves a Warboy out his way immediately, almost off the ledge in his eagerness to reach her - it’s amusing.

 

She watches, admires, as he slides down, his boot’s digging into smooth stone. It’s similar to the first time she saw him, which makes her feel like she’s walking in someone else's shoes. He still has her shawl tied around his neck, now his scarf and he seems to walk in a way that makes it more obvious he has a token of her affection on him. It makes her feel like she owns him, and while at one time that would have made her feel something pleasurable it worries her now. 

 

_They are not things. We are not things anymore._

 

With a steady breath she reaches her hand out between them, waiting not long before he takes her hand, staring at their twined fingers frantically, “I have a favor to ask of you, Slit - and I’ll give as good as I get.”


	5. Part Five (The Warboy Thing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heavy thanks to babesabbath, redcandle17, juliettdelta, twiggzzler, CreepingBoNE, Zoadgo, trashlord_zuko and Jo for their wonderful comments. Here is the fifth part to this endeavor. Also, I mentioned in the notes from another fic that I signed up for the Mad Max Fury Road Exchange. I've done five offers, and three request. If anyone else is interested check it out here http://archiveofourown.org/collections/furyroadexchange

The whole walk out of the dregs, through the corridors and up the stone stairs to the Vault, Toast could feel the energy bouncing inside Slit through the firm grip he had on her hand. The contact infected her with it too - heart racing, feet bouncing and breath sharp and quick. She even skipped around a corner, dashing past Capable on her way into the open dome. There was no thought to say hello - too busy rushing inside; dazed. 

 

It was harder once inside to tug Slit to her room. Busy as he was staring at the bath and the glittering glass of the dome, eye darting up, down and around.

 

She saw something like disgust on his face briefly before it was replaced by veneration. Toast could only wonder if Nux had the same reaction when he saw this place. The Warboys had enough to keep them alive for only so long. Water was a commodity and her and her sisters bathed in it... 

 

“Come on, I’ll show you the bath later,” she said, pulling at their twined fingers. He came eventually and once he did they ran - ran up the smooth ramp. Toast nearly giggled as they turned a corner and then the subtle sweet smell of her room greeted her.

 

This little place was all her own. It was small, long but narrow, covered in the schematics she was most proud of. Her bed was tucked to the right, surrounded by three smooth stone walls and on her left was her table with papers and mechanicals to draw and sketch with. A four wide pile of books was her seat...

 

She was proud of her little nest, so when she caught her breath, turning around, exhilarated and all grins, she cursed, not expecting what she saw, “What the bleeding hell are you doing?!”

 

“Getting ready for you,” he stated plainly, pushing his open pants down to fall around his ankles as if they were weighted down by a hundred heavy things. There, between his legs hung his hardening cock. It was not what she had anticipated at all, but she couldn’t very well look away immediately. It curved to the left slightly as it rose upwards, and it had no hood...something she hadn’t noticed before. It didn’t look anything like Joe’s... 

 

“Where’s your...thing?” internally she scoffed at herself. _Thing?! Really?_ Slit just looked at her like she’d asked him where his bollocks were.

 

“This is my thing,” he told her, something fragile and defensive in his voice. Of course he would be put off by that sort of question.

 

“I meant - not that,” she took a deep breath, spending a few bare seconds to think on how to phrase it, “I mean where’s the skin on the tip of your...penis?”

 

“My thunderstick?” he reached down and grasped the hard length, stroking it once - firm, long and slow all the way to the tip where a pearl of moisture developed. _What the hell was he thinking? - or what was she thinking?_ Slowly, Toast nodded, trying to keep her eyes on his grinning face and not the large thing he was currently squeezing, quite happily it would seem.

 

Slit groaned, twisting himself before telling her, “They cut it off when we prove ourselves, before they move us up to Warboys,” another twist of his wrist and a downwards stroke, “If you can stand the pain without a noise you’ll get a better mentor. Lucky for Nux he didn’t make a peep, that’s why I picked him.” Slit looked quite proud of himself and when he grunted, laving his cock with his fist slow and firm she swallowed thickly, not liking how much she wanted to get on her knees and taste the blushing tip of it.

 

“Nux told me how long my tongue was once. I bet I’ll do better with it too. You ready, Toast the Krazy?”

 

 

 _Yes! Wait...no,_ she wasn’t.

 

Her nose scrunched up when she felt blood ooze out of her as she stood in the center of her room, with a Warboy currently tossing himself off enthusiastically in front of her no less. What else was he to expect when she dragged him in here? After that thing last night... _No, he wasn’t just a cock...or a tongue, or anything else to be used._  

 

“T-that’s not what I was talking about when I wanted you to come here. Put them back on - your pants I mean,” she looked away, still seeing him out the side of her eye, “...hells...that’s not the only thing you’re good for you know.”

 

Slit puffed up, making an odd, reptilian noise she almost laughed at him for, but he honestly seemed sure that her intent was...this. _No,_ Toast shook her head, turned around and waited. It took a steady breath and a shit load of resolve to not turn back around when she heard his fist sliding almost wetly along his flesh. _By the Moon,_ why did she want to do that with him so badly - why did she want to let him lick all the blood off her...fuck her on her desk, feast within every inch she had and do the same to him? _This was stupid..._

 

“This is what Red bring’s Nux up here for, what else could you want?”

 

“...lots of things,” she muttered, folding her arms tight over her chest, refusing to turn around until she heard the telltale jingle of those pants being lifted and subsequently buckled. It took awhile, but a few annoyed growls and grunts later she heard the sound of his ego deflating and the defiant buckling of his pants. Toast dared a slow look over her shoulder to find him with his hands shoved in the loops of them, looking sullenly at his boots. It was almost... _adorable_ how defeated he looked. 

 

“It’s not that I don’t want that...I’m on my cycle if you remember.”

 

Slit arched the brow without an eye under it and stared down at her, still slightly hunched in his misery, “What are you on about?”

 

Toast squinted at him, seeing nothing but interest and mild confusion. 

 

“My blood,” she said as though it were obvious, but the lack of understanding on his face made her shift, trying to find something to stare at expect him. Eventually, when he said nothing, just palmed the hardness under black canvas and grunted, she conceded, “Every new moon a woman goes through a cycle of bleeding.”

 

“It-” she went still, “-it’s breeding stuff. If we bleed it means our bodies are getting rid of the old bed for a sprog so it can make a new one. See? Simple…” but it wasn’t simple and though she explained it as quickly and idiot-proof as she could he still looked no different.

 

“Pretty chrome that is. But what does it have to do with the thing my tongue can do?” he asked, deadpan.

 

“It’s blood...you don’t want to do that...with...blood,” she stuttered, feeling a heat run into her cheeks. _What was wrong with her?!_ Even her belly was soaked in warmth now as she pictured him getting to his knees and stuffing his face between her sodden thighs, licking her clean.

 

“I like your blood,” he whispered, grinning. That long tongue of his slid along his lower lip, splitting his smile even wider and lewder. But she wasn’t put off by it - not like the flicking tongue of that other Warboy, now sporting a mangled ear thanks to Slit. No, the way Slit tongued the side of his mouth was making her seriously consider letting him show her what the fleshy appendage could do.

 

“No,” she muttered it like she would before pulling the trigger. A final, fragile word that was meant as an apology and a demand. She was telling a man _‘no’_ and her gut went hard in anticipation as Slit shifted darkly before her.

 

“Alright.”

 

Toast blinked, “What?” she steadied herself against her table, grabbing the edge as all the tension drained out of her limbs, leaving them feeling weak and useless. _It was that simple? Just an ‘alright’?_

 

“I said fine. Now, what did you want me for? My thunderstick is aching...”

 

His term for his penis, said twice already makes Toast suddenly giggle - this reaction is not what Slit wanted though, it seems. She watches him straighten his back, standing at his full height before crossing his arms tightly about his chest. The posture is perfectly defensive and yet offensive. 

 

“Sorry, but _‘thunderstick’_ is the dumbest name for a cock I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Better than calling it a shift stick,” he grouses, sneering over at her with his head turned to one side.

 

She watches him rub his chin down along his new scarf when she chuckles, unable to help herself. It’s oddly pleasant to just talk with him like she normally only does her sisters. Plus she now knows what Nux calls his cock and she plans on teasing Capable about it later tonight, maybe before she starts up her nightly routine of fucking.

 

“Well what do you call your thing then?” he asks, chin buried in the scarf, his wide ruined mouth turned down. Toast shrugs, jumping up on the corner of her desk out of habit. She taps the large pile of books with her heel and eyes him over to it. Slit grumbles, but sits down carefully on the pile, legs spread wide and elbows on his thighs. For once she’s taller than him and it makes her stomach flip and flop pleasantly.

 

“I’ll tell you if you help me with these diagrams,” she’s already moving the uneven stack of stiff papers into her lap, smiling lightly. 

 

“I’m not a Black Thumb,” he starts to say, but then he levels his shoulders and smirks, “but I’ll show you what you need to fix. Now tell me.”

 

“The uh...my word burgers call it a vagina, but this one Cheedo has calls it a vulva. I think vulva sounds better. Joe called it a snatch sometimes...I prefer vulva.”

 

“Vulva. It sounds like Valhalla…” he intones, almost worship-like and it should make Toast cringe, but it doesn’t. Instead she finds herself nodding as his red eye turns down, as if looking through the fabric of her pants, between her thighs, mapping her. Once again she resolves to not give into the urge to see what all his talk is about - to not let him skim around her flesh with his tongue until she meets that edge again and falls off. The orgasm thing...she does want it again, but not while she’s bleeding.

 

 

They pour over her drawings until she finds herself, belly down on her table, ankles crossed and her pencil marking little spot on her schematics as he points out flaws. All Warboys know about engines, measurements and explosives, she learns.

 

Slit’s told her only once that Nux would be better to ask about a certain V12 engine she’s trying to design, but everything else he’s overly confident in. She even shows him the simple drawing she did of a new pursuit vehicle with a rail system on the hatch that can hold a dozen thundersticks like a row of bullets on the side of the car. It seems to make Slit groan like when he’d been jerking himself off under her the night before. 

 

On the back he starts sketching out outlandish improvements.

 

“...handle bars here and on the fender too - we could put this on the back and make room for one of these,” she watches his long fingers furiously move the pencil along the paper. He makes a perch like thing that hovers over the engine and scribbles a chain that connects it to the back, “...so I can swing!”

 

Toast grins, “You’ll tip the car over with all that metal you know.”

 

“That’s why we’ll put in counter weights here,” he taps the pencil to the rear bottom of the crude car drawing, “with a heavy lancer’s perch. A dozen thundersticks or more, steel frame. Wouldn’t want me to run out of them with all the Buzzard’s I’ll be dropping.”

 

Slit’s adamant about his ideas, enthusiastic and oddly innocent. This is his passion - his life and she feels closer to him now than when he had her hips in his hands, churning her roughly against his hard stomach in wild abandon.

 

A different part of her feels good as she watches him tongue his lower lip, sketching, erasing with the heel of his hand and grunting gently, so enraptured by what he’s doing. Toast puts her chin in her palm and lets herself study his face from this angle. He’s close enough she can smell the dregs of his breath as he blows it out in his excitement. 

 

The scars on this side of his face are jagged and cruel, held together at his cheekbone by three buffed staples. When he grins down at his drawing she can see wet, red flesh between the clamps. It’s healed, she knows that and it must be old for it to have deformed his face...maybe when he was a pup himself. It pulls that side of his mouth up like he’s constantly smirking - the expression it paints on him seems to have directly influenced his moods, since he always seems so smug and sure. 

 

He’s painted fresh too, and the powder - not grease paint like she’d thought, it’s nothing as thick as Furiosa’s grease - is dusted from his eyes to the top of his head. Some of the dust is caked in where they stitched his empty eye closed. It’s a line of puckered flesh, uneven and ugly, but something about it is fascinating too. He’s almost like a word burger, a compilation of tales burnt and cut into his skin. 

 

_“...I’ll need something that’ll let me crawl up it without throwing the vehicle off…”_

 

When he breaks the lead of the pencil she hands him another without thinking, peering behind him when he grins and hunches over the paper again, mumbling under his breath.

 

There’s a line of scars running down his back, uneven cuts running down the delicate slope and crests of his spine. _Intentional_ , she thinks, like so many of his scars. Just above his rear is another patch of scars, but they look older than most of the marks, covered in more fresher cuts to the point she can’t make out what it’s suppose to be.

 

Toast doesn’t think when she take her fingers and skims them down his spine, delicate; barely there at all. A full, violent shudder wracks his body and a great groan is blown out his nose - so loud Toast jerks back, nearly going to her knees.

 

Slit looks up at her, his one, red bloody eye is wide and she can see his bottom teeth past his open mouth. He looks stupid, looking at her like that, like she’s done something like...like...slowly she pushes her fingers back on his spine and runs her nails along the raised scars, watching keenly as his eye flutters closed and another one of those odd noises leaks out his throat - something like a groan and a wheeze.

 

“Who did these?” she asks, whispering, still skimming down his spine, watching him practically melt under the touch. He didn’t even look this jellied when he’d been stroking his cock, or spilling himself against the stone wall…

 

“Nux...he didn’t have a steady hand. But they still look…” she reaches just above the line of his pants, thumb rubbing at the bundle of chaotic scars there with her nails still at his spine, and he grunts, jerking his hips on the pile of books, “...fuckin’ chrome!” He howls it, doesn’t just cry out like she’s heard other Warboys do while shouting orders or yelling - it’s a bloody howl of a sound and once again Toast isn’t thinking when she slides off her desk and pulls him up with her. The need comes from something in her bones and her blood. That’s what’s to blame when she pushes him down on the edge of her bed. He’s squirming, curling his stomach like he’s trying to rub himself within the tightness of his pants, but going nowhere, hissing.

 

Toast settles down in his lap, scooting back so her bare feet can touch the stone floor. It leaves her legs wide open and the smell of blood fills her nostrils. Slit inhales sharply, shivers again and grins, “You can’t help yourself can you?”

 

She shushes him, too aroused to think about insulting him. He leans down eagerly, expecting it maybe when she takes his jaw and directs his mouth over her own, kissing him slow at first while he gathers her up closer, squeezing her arse firm and possessive. It’s his hands on her that move her lower body into the hardness covered in canvas, or maybe it’s her. Toast can’t tell where she begins and he ends in all honestly, especially not when she dares to push her tongue in his mouth again and is met with his, flicking furiously under her own and sucking at it when she hesitates to do much else.

 

They kiss like this until her jaw aches, pulling away to find him licking his lips and sucking at his gums, smirking.

 

“Do you still want to make me do the Warboy thing?”

 

Slit nods, shifting so her arse is better supported by his thighs before he works at her one, flimsy belt between them. The same feeling as before grips her belly, like when she was on the road and the Polecats had her in the air, but it’s not fear - it’s excitement. Anticipation for that feeling again. That edge she’s gonna jump off of.

 

“Only your fingers,” she says quickly, before he tries to put her on her back and tongue her clean. He jerks his head in some form of a nod, throwing the flaps of canvas open enough that the cotton wraps crisscrossed around her lower body are exposed. One of his fingers slides between cloth and skin, skimming along her lower belly before he tugs it back and looks inside.

 

“That mediocre shit said you women had hair same as us, you just don’t cut it away. Looks so chrome…” he inhales deeply again and it makes goosebumps raise on her arms and legs, “...smells good too. You sure I can’t use my tongue?”

 

Toast nods, shakes her head, whimpers, “I’m sure...later...maybe, fingers for now.”

 

He leans in and licks at her neck, sampling her skin more than trying to please her, but he must have found something tasty because soon he’s laving at a part of her neck, just under her ear and groaning loudly. All the while she feels his fingers slide under the gauzy fabric, slipping into the wetness of blood and that slick she makes when she’s eager to touch herself. It stings a bit for some reason but it’s so sensitive he doesn’t even need to touch that nub that brought her to the edge before to make her mewl. She moans without his touch being concentration anywhere specific, but after a few minutes of this she rolls her hips impatiently.

 

“Touch that thing...that ball from before - whatever it was,” she demands, holding herself together with her hands braced on his shoulders, working herself against his fingers fruitlessly.

 

“What thing? It all feels the same.”

 

“No…” she whines desperately, “it’s like a button...at the top.”

 

Slit grumbles, losing that smirk as his mouth presses into a hard line of concentration. His fingers start fumbling at the top of her vulva, just below the hair, pressing firm and gentle; searching. A nub of harder flesh pops under his thumb and he freezes as she moans sharply. 

 

“That’s it!” she gasps, jerking forward. The feeling is so much more intense, almost too much this time.

 

“I feel it,” he says low, almost to himself and rubs the nub hard again. Intentionally this time, and her body lurches, singing. Through half closed eyes she sees him smirking, grinning - his hand on her arse squeezes again and his thumb rubs the button in tight circles. It might be too hard, some of it hurts more than it feels good but there’s a brutal sort of pleasure to it and Toast is afraid if she corrects him he’ll get lost again.

 

“Can I feel your insides? I can do this and that at the same time. You’ll do the thing still, I swear,” he says, breathing and snorting breath along her neck and in her ear, hissing at whatever pleasure this brings him. She’s not rubbing anywhere near his thunderstick now, so it couldn’t be physical pleasure that’s making him so noisy.

 

For a second Toast worries about someone overhearing him. The door is still open, even though her rooms at the end of the ledge...so no one could walk past and see...the sound still travels so loudly in here.

 

 _By the moon_ she doesn’t care.

 

Desperately she nods. Immediately, she regrets agreeing with him when the pleasure goes away, but then one of his fingers is searching and pressing lower. His teeth sink into his lower lip and then he’s inside her, deep and thick...and another finger wedges inside and his thumb curls and starts in a circle and her face falls into his shoulder and her spine curls and...and…

 

“Yess…” she hisses, digging her nails into his shoulders, opening her mouth to bite hard into the muscle by his neck.

 

Again he howls, jerking his hips into his own wrist as he fucks her with his fingers, thumbs that nub...throws her off the cliff with her teeth in his flesh. Toast drools on him as the pleasure sits like a stone in her belly. It goes on for so long she thinks it won’t ever end and when the feeling crests her insides clench and suck in pulsing waves along his fingers.

 

“V8...you're pullin’ on my fingers,” he says in astonishment, still thrusting them inside, making the lewdest sounds; both from him and from her, “How?” he demands, still moving - still working with his thumb. It’s too much, but something makes her bite her lip, hold back the gentle sob of _‘stop’_ and it was a good idea. Because a few seconds later another wave bursts, not like the first. It’s shorter, but it feels just as sharp and she wraps her arms around his neck, shoving her chest to his, churning her hips and clawing at his back.

 

It makes him stop - the way she’s trapped his hands between them, but that’s alright, because Toast can’t imagine taking anymore of this and staying awake.

 

“Your insides are moving,” he says, reminding her, as though she could ever forget. 

 

“I told you…” she breathes, “we can do it better than you Warboys can.”

 

For a while he doesn’t say anything, just pulls his hand out from between them to run warm, wet fingers up her spine. Then he concedes, almost annoyingly, “Maybe, but don’t forget I’m the one that did it to you.”

 

“Did you do it too? - did you jump off the cliff?”

 

“Don’t have too, that felt good enough on it’s own,” he says, honest, as he rubs his nose under her ear, almost kissing her neck. “I’ll do it to myself later. I’m good at it by now…” this time he does kiss her neck, runs his teeth down the length until he finds a little giving skin and sucks at it.

 

Toast thinks about it, mulls it over while he’s prolonging the feeling of her high with his mouth and now sticky fingers rubbing into the plains of her back, thumbing her loose muscles. She could do it to him too...yes, she wants to. There’s no feeling of obligation. She wants to make him feel like she does, so she pulls away slowly, catching an annoyed line form on his mouth as the skin he’s been enjoying is taken away from him.

 

“I want to.”

 

“Hmm?” he mumbles, arching that dark brow without an eye.

 

Toast opens her mouth to clarify, but she’d rather just show him, so she releases his shoulders to start at the buckles on his pants. Slit understands what she meant straight away, fighting with her fingers to undo his belts faster, jerking at the rusted zipper that resists until he growls loudly, picking her up and putting her on the warm spot of her bed where he’d been. It’s almost funny watching him try and work out of the pants that refuse to open, but eventually he shimmies them off his hips and a large, long cock springs out, slapping against his stomach loudly.

 

“Bollocks…” she curses.

 

She’s a bit thunderstruck as he bounces back on the bed beside her, but he paws at her hips, gets a good grip and slings her back over his thighs with a wide, ugly grin that she can’t help but love right now. 

 

He’s helping her get a good grip on it, no words but his heavy breaths and lizard noises - it’s chaotic and hot. The flesh is malleable in her palm, but the stiffness underneath is like smooth stone, so hard she wonders if he could beat down other Warboys with it. Though that train of thought conjures images that makes her gut twist with something like jealousy.

 

“V8 be praised...I’ve been thinking about this since you got me on the ground,” he hisses as she strokes up to the tip, feeling its softness with a swipe of her thumb. It goes slippery and she watches the head throb red and painful looking, but Slit’s hissing and groaning, making so many noises she can’t categorize them all. Someone is definitely going to hear him...there’s no way someone could come within ten meters of the Vault and not hear him.

 

“Jasper told me you didn’t want it, but -” he grabs at her hips roughly, hissing as she picks up the pace, trying to remember how he’d done it to himself. It’d been fast and savage. Toast knew Slit could handle it so she tightens her grip and twists as she thrusts up and down.

 

“Fuck!...fuck...fanged myself so hard…you’re so soft and small,” he chants, talking in clipped words she doesn’t understand. Something in him changes, something breaks or a better description is something releases.

 

Suddenly he’s laying flat on his back, shifting his grip to her arse, massaging the flesh and jerking his hips into her tight fist, sliding himself in her grip all the faster. The slippery pour coming out the tip of him makes the strokes slick and easy. His hips piston up and down, fast and desperate and then she feels his cock throb deeply, surging. Strings of his seed fly from the tip of it, splattering all over his stomach.

 

 _So much,_ she thinks wildly, slowing her fist to a gentle rhythm until he shakes violently and her hand pauses, only gripping. When her eyes dart up from his cock to his face, he’s got his palms pushed deep into his sockets, shivering.

 

“Slit…?” something about it worries her. But he shakes his head, groaning loudly. He run his hands up to his forehead, scratching at his scalp with a deep, satisfied breath. The way his arms are raised above his head draws her eyes to bulging muscles she hadn’t noticed before.

 

“Fine,” he says low and hoarse. That one red eye of his opens, focusing on her with gratitude and affection. Toast doesn’t hesitate to smile. She leans over him and kisses him gently, bracing herself on an elbow by his neck. Lazily, his tongue licks her teeth, kissing back the way she’s seen Nux kissing Capable…

 

_“Toast! Toast! Guess what?!”_

 

Toast rips her mouth off Slit’s and he starts stroking her back almost lovingly, reaching up to kiss her neck as though he doesn’t hear -

 

_“Toast! Are you up there?!”_

 

“Oh god - stop…” she begs, rising to her knees as Slit snaps playfully at her retreating neck, trying to get off him quick enough to do...do something but it only makes it worse. So much worse now that his softening cock is on full display, as well as the result of his sudden Nux-like mood where he’s all open arms and a big smile with _dimpled_ cheeks.

 

_“Toast?!”_

 

When Cheedo flies into the room, a huge happy smile on her face, Toast is mortified...but not as much as Cheedo, who immediately freezes, stares, understands what she’s looking at and promptly screams. Slit just keeps smiling.


	6. Part Six (The Gift)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heavy thanks to CreepingBoNE, RubyQuinn, chromeshaft, Zoadgo, redcandle17, twiggzzler, Apholeen and Liisiko for their wonderful comments.
> 
> I drew a Drawing!Slit for this chapter also, posted to my Tumblr  
> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/post/129389084738/new-chapter-for-lizards-are-delicious-here
> 
> Here is the sixth part to this endeavor!

There’s a good thirty seconds or so where Cheedo just screams, covering her mouth with shaky hands before she turns around and runs out the room, still screaming…calling for Dag, for Capable...for everyone, including Furiosa.

 

Toast screws her mouth close, still kneeling over a gloating Slit who can’t look any more pleased with himself than he does right now. It should make her mad, annoyed, furious or any number of emotions but she finds it oddly endearing. She slaps his arm anyways to shake herself of the desire to smile at him and giggle like a fool.

 

“Hey,” he grins, “...no touching without permission. Hitting is touching, Toast the Krazy.”

 

“You’ve just traumatized my sister, you do realize that?” she mutters, crawling off him to find his fingers bloody, curled in a relaxed state just like the rest of him. She bet’s she could roll him over and he’d just slide off the bed into a pile. It’s a tempting idea, but she can still hear Cheedo explaining loudly what she’d seen up in Toast’s room. It’s unclear who she’s talking to, but by the silence from the recipient of her upset it’s probably Furiosa...

 

Quickly she slams her door shut, flipping the lock with a huff, “I’ll never hear the end of this. Do - do I have blood on my back?!” she twists, pawing at her hip, trying to twist enough to see. It feels like there is though, and that just makes her feel worse for poor Cheedo. _Not enough she had to see me with him like that, but the blood? Bollocks..._ she should have shut her door. _Why didn’t she lock the door?!_

 

Slit chuckles from her bed, still splayed out with a soft cock laid out over his abdomen, his seed drying on his stomach. She watches him itch at his chest lazily, groaning. _Too happy,_ she thinks, but she can’t begrudge him for it. In fact, Toast would be lying if she said she wasn’t proud of herself for causing him such tranquility. She’d be doing the same most like if it wasn’t for Cheedo running in, half mad with something important.

 

The sound of footsteps on the ramp ruffles her enough that she crosses her arms petulantly. _They’re not getting in,_ she tells herself, maybe says it out loud since Slit seems to mutter in agreement from the bed. 

 

There’s a soft knock and the unmistakable calm tone of Furiosa, “Toast?” 

 

“Not opening the door. And it’s not my fault she saw!” she replies, pacing the small, open space in her room, trying to ignore Slit as he sits halfway up, wiping at the clear, wet splotches on his belly with bloody fingers. Her nose scrunches up before she finds a sheer cut of fabric and hands it to him. 

 

“Mmnn,” he grunts in thanks, before stroking down his stomach and cock with the cloth, a groan vibrating his chest. _By the moon,_ just watching him do that to himself makes her want to do it with him again.

 

Another muffled, but calm call comes from beyond her door, “When you’re ready Capable has some news for everyone. We’ll be in the Mouth of Madness...I...hope you’re alright.”

 

Toast tosses her eyes away from a cleansing Slit, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment and annoyance, “Yes,” she mumbles and then a little louder, “I’m fine.”

 

“Good,” is the muffled reply, but that's the end of it thankfully.

 

The only other sounds beyond the door are the retreating patter of footsteps. _Good riddance_. She breathes out loudly, inhaling a shaky breath as the tension starts to dissipate finally. _That was...unfortunate,_ she thinks.

 

As Slit sits up, starting to tug at the zipper that gave him so much trouble before, she flops down on her bed besides him, covering her hot face with a groan.

 

He makes a pleased sound when the zipper teeth's open, then there's shuffling in her ears and his weight is gone from the bed as he buckles his pants back in place. _That’s a good thing,_ Toast tells herself, he needs to put it away or she’ll be tempted to do more stuff to it, and now's apparently not the time.

 

“That wasn’t the most humiliating thing I’ve ever experienced, but it’s up there,” she mutters.

 

“Seemed like you liked it…” 

 

“What?- no! Yes that, I did. Not- not that...didn’t you? Were you not here when that just happened?” she pointed to the locked door, half-feral. Slit just shrugged a shoulder, stroking the healthy skin exposed from the cleansing of the mess he made...or more like she made of him.

 

Privacy, she tasted the word. Warboys didn’t understand the concept. He had jerked himself off in plain view of a crowd of Warboys and pups...she even did that thing with him in front of them too. But this had been Cheedo and there’d been blood and noticeable smears of cum on his stomach and his cock...it was different than before, but not so much for him it seemed.

 

“I thought you Sisters were closer than this,” he said, leaning in to nuzzle his nose under her ear. It was sweet - so sweet and unlike anything she thought he could do that she blushed again, twining her fingers in her lap, not knowing what else to do as his lips rubbed her neck playfully. 

 

“Not that kind of close,” but when Toast said that it was a lie. They did everything together and sexual situations were not kept a secret, not before and not now. But it was Cheedo that saw them - still untouched and pure of heart Cheedo, who slept with the Warpups and mothered them like an old woman. Out of all her sisters she was the last one that should have seen her leaning over a naked Warboy with blood on her back…

 

“Ugh,” she groaned, turning on her side, away from his nips and licks of the tongue, but he followed her, unfazed, pulling her body close by an arm around her middle, teething her neck and inhaling her hair deeply.

 

He was...spooning her. _Cuddling,_ Toast thought oddly.

 

Without her even realizing it she was shifting back into him, hugging his thick arm and sighing with each little touch of his mouth. He skimmed up and down her neck, licked at the soft part of her ear, giving it a gentle bite before sucking on it gently, leaving patches of tingling flesh in his wake.

 

Toast could feel her belly aching sweetly, but after a few minutes she shifted in his arms, turning to face him. Maybe he thought she meant to kiss him, because he was leaning in with a silly expression just before she grabbed his chin to halt him. “Gotta go down to the Mouth, I’d bring you along but you might make Cheedo faint, alright?”

 

Against her previous opinion of him being, only slightly unreasonable, he simply nodded, accepting her reason without question. Before she ushered him out she made him clean the blood off his hand, much to his strange dismay. Her nose wrinkled when she thought about the number of odd reasons he’d want to keep the stains there. He even seemed bothered when she had him clean the smears left on her back and hips. The rest she cleaned herself, not daring to let him that close so soon.

 

The effects of Slit’s sudden sweet and agreeable nature followed Toast all the way to the Mouth of Madness - he’d given her a smirk before sauntering out the Vault, back to the pits, but aside from that he was starkly different after what she did to him. She only worried slightly what he might go off and brag about later, but at least the evidence was cleaned off of him.

 

Slit struck her as a man of tall tales, so she wasn’t too worried...much. Maybe they’d all think he was lying. She smirked, that is if he told anyone.

 

It was obvious what Cheedo had been so excited about before. When Capable announced she was pregnant, Toast had to feign surprise, but the happiness she felt for her sister was genuine. 

 

The honest emotion was a relief. For so long she’d viewed motherhood as a burden, something forced and suffered through...possibly to the death, but she felt none of that while Capable hugged her, happy tears in her eyes. It didn’t mean the idea wasn’t scary though. Toast had heard about how some of the Mothers died before their first child was born - tending to happen to the smaller ones more often than not. Toast was small...but her sister, Capable, was perfect. 

 

The death of Angharad hung over their heads while Capable told them her chosen name if she birthed a girl, but it wasn’t all regrets. Maybe it was more a celebration for their lost sister than anything and when they eventually parted ways it was still with heavy smiles and light kisses. 

 

Later Toast found herself propagating something called Rosemary with Dag, chewing on a few mint leaves to wash out the taste of the day.

 

“I knew by the way,” Toast said, grinning as she clipped a fresh, green branch, laying it carefully in soiled water.

 

The Dag chuckled, tossing Toast a devilish look, “We all knew, but that would have lessened the news, wouldn’t it?”

 

Toast just shrugged, swallowing the mint, “Do you think her Warboy knows?”

 

“I haven’t seen Nux since last night. He didn’t seem to know then...perhaps she’s telling him now.”

 

Toast peered out the window of the little green house. The moon was out, high, bright and greeted with a thousand glimmering stars, “Well…” she smirked, “this is normally when they start rooting. He’s either scared shitless or more enthusiastic than usual.”

 

The Dag only _hums_ in agreement as they finish clipping the new growths, soaking the ends in her special oils. In a few weeks they’ll plant them and watch them grow into new plants. 

 

Apparently Coma was the one who told her sister about this method, something he learned from his Mother when he was a child. The blind prodigy, according to Dag, has more than just a talent for music. Toast has to bite her tongue to keep from adding more to that, but her sister seems lost in another world half the time she’s been up here...so maybe a stray comment wouldn’t have gotten much but a naive smile.

 

“This...Coma,” Toast begins, but Dag is apparently more aware than previously thought. She’s quick of wit on slow days and bites like a snake on others. Today she’s channeling the reptile.

 

“Shall we talk about Slit this evening as well. I’m sure you could shed some light on what Cheedo witnessed. I heard it was quite the mess,” it’s said with an annoying, albeit sisterly smile. But The Dag could be more brutal and vicious - it still shows she’s hiding something with the blind one though. Toast doesn’t bother prying, it’ll do no good anyways. Besides, she grumbles, she doesn’t want to talk about the Cheedo incident or Slit either. Partly the reason she’s up here with Dag is to avoid Cheedo and the resulting apology she’ll expect.

 

“Did you...lay with him?” - it’s asked softly; gentle-like.

 

“What the bloody hell does that mean?” 

 

“Breeding…”

 

Toast feels her heart dropping in her gut for a moment, and it’s hard to breathe, but the anxiety passes quickly and silently she shakes her head. No, she hasn’t done that yet. And she won’t call it breeding. _Not ever again._ She’ll call it fucking if there isn’t another word for it, but never, ever breeding.

 

“We agreed not to call it that anymore,” Toast mutters, thumbing a tiny soft leaf as her heart begins relaxing. The Dag only frowns, turning on her knees to face her.

 

“We did. I’m sorry...let’s call it _making love_ instead. Yea?” there’s a smile on her sister's face and then her long bony fingers poke her side, that spot that tickles. Toast can’t help but yelp, grinning. Bad mood averted.

 

“That’s so sweet it makes me sick. _Fucking_ sounds better,” she argues, kicking Dag’s knee with her bare foot, “Besides, anything I do with Slit won’t be like those word burgers you and Capable eat up.” Toast says that, but then she remembered the way he rubbed his nose behind her ear, kissed her neck and held her close after he came. Her laughter dies slowly, but she keeps the smile to deter Dag from any more questions. Slit...he had the potential to _make love_...maybe…

 

_“Vulgar…”_

 

Toast only rolls her eyes to the window again, wondering idly what Slit’s doing now - if he’s still training in the pits, sleeping soundly or bragging about the evening they had. The idea of him telling his fellow Warboys about her makes her both uncomfortable and flattered. It’s an odd combination of feelings.

 

A part of her wants to find him again, but she aches and sleep is weighing down her eyes with each blink, so she gives her sister a light kiss, strokes a braided length of her hair and tells her _good night_ , leaving for her room that still reeks of the Lizard King. 

 

After changing her blood cloth, cleaning up with a wet rag and falling into her bed, she’s assaulted by the smell of him. Her blankets smell of seed and grease, of sweat and that odor of war paint - the smell is pure Slit and it doesn’t keep her up like she fears, just puts her down into a deep, heavy sleep that’s as soothing as the night before. Toast could get used to sleeping after jumping off the cliff...it’s just so much better than anything else in the world and the nightmares seem scared of her too, which grants her a certain power she’s yet to match with anything previously. So she sleeps sound and dreamless - almost like death.

 

When Toast wakes up she feels nothing like the night before. Her head aches, her stomach is clenched into tight knots of tension and pain. She’s drenched in sweat and nauseas. These feelings come with the bleeding sometimes but she didn’t think for it to happen this time. Despite all the blood and discomfort everything else had felt so good compared to usual...and now she’s stuck kicking at the blankets in her bed, groaning in disgust and hurt.

 

Toast lays in bed, cursing life and blood and womanhood until The Dag peers in past the door frame, inquisitive and nimble despite the large swell she’s holding with both hands. 

 

“I think your sounds of anguish could be heard by my seedlings even, are you poorly?”

 

Toast only nods, curling into a tight ball with her pillow pushed tight to her stomach. A wave of sick teases her throat, but she swallows it down, refusing to toss up while Dag enters her room, a pitcher of water in hand and a small black looking bottle tucked between her knuckles.

 

“What the hell is that?” Toast demands pathetically.

 

“Ginger...with other gifts from the gardens.”

 

“...is that what they gave-” 

 

“No. It’s better. From the soil...nothing like that poison from before,” The Dag smiles wide, settling herself at the foot of her bed; elegant and surreal in those black silks of hers, “you might even like the taste. I like it.”

 

It doesn’t taste bad, in fact the first taste is sweetness, but it leaves her mouth feeling dry and bitter, thick even. As soon as it coats her stomach the nausea dissipates though and for the first time since waking up, Toast manages a smile, “Bloody hell...I could kiss you.”

 

Dag laughs, leans in and kisses her cheek, despite the stickiness of her skin. 

 

After awhile the pain in her stomach lessens too, and she falls back into a hazy sleep as Dag places a few plants on her desk, organizing the chaos of her and Slit’s liaison yesterday. By the time she wakes up next she feels much better, and her room smells fresh, with splatters of green painted about her room. The Dag is gone, but through the crack in her door she can hear voices echoing in the Vault.

 

_“-needs the rest, not blood. Take it back to a Warboy that needs it, yea?”_

 

Toast stills, breathing slow and listens, she hears the Dag again, _“Don’t come back this time. Let her rest...she’ll be back to bothering you in a couple more days.”_

 

 _Thanks,_ Toast thinks, rolling over, shoving her face in a musky pillow that still smells faintly like Slit. It feels late in the day. Maybe night? Either way she’s still sleepy, relaxed and groggy from so much of it already. In a couple more days she will be fine, just as Dag says and Slit won’t know what to do with her then. 

 

Down below Toast can hear those lizard noises he makes, then a muffled word or two and all is quiet again. She’s drifting off when Dag cracks her door open, searching for her in the darkness.

 

“I’m awake,” she mutters, slightly amused by the fact that her sister had to deal with Slit while she’s been in bed all day. Dag only scoffs, reaching the lantern by her desk and switching it on with no small amount of annoyance. The light stabs the back of her eyes before she can cover them.

 

“Blinded…”

 

“I highly doubt that. Here,” something is placed on her covered lap, something small but heavy and Toast sits up with a groan to palm it before even looking at it.

 

“What is it?”

 

Dag gives her a look and Toast stares down at it, “Did he...give this to you, to give to me?” It’s skinny and at first glance looks like scrap - something she’d kick out of the way if it was in her path. But as she looks at it she realizes it’s a gift of some sort…

 

“Yes. He came around while Nux and Capable were here, asked for you. Came again so I told him you were unwell...now he shows up once more with a bag of...blood and that,” she points, “He insisted I give it to you, but he took back the blood. Thankfully,” The Dag looks offended by the whole ordeal, but Toast is elated and doesn’t even care if it’s a foolish feeling. 

 

She lets the trinket slip between her fingers, teasing the tiny metal loops and fired leather fringe. It must be a bracelet. There’s a little buffed clasp at the end that loops in, fitting perfectly to her thin wrist when she fastens it on. It’s smooth on her skin too - it doesn’t knick the thin flesh around the ball of her wrist when she jiggles her hand. _It is perfect..._

 

“You think he made this?” Toast asks in awe.

 

Dag shrugs, petting the leaves of one of the green things she’s placed on her desk, “They’re all craftsman...it wouldn’t surprise me. The fact that they even give gifts doesn’t surprise me anymore either.”

 

“It’s…” she searches for a word, but comes up with only one, “...it’s pretty.”

 

“It’s a trinket,” Dag argues.

 

“I like it,” Toast whispers, fingering the center piece that maybe was once part of a radio, but it’s now cut down into a circle and weaved with a thin, chrome wire. The whole thing is bright and shiny and just looking at it too long begins to make her throat tight and her eyes sting. _Foolish,_ she thinks, ceasing her detailing of it quickly.

 

“You should eat,” Dag says and Toast nods, peering off into her lap to avoid showing her sister the shine in her eyes. It’s slightly embarrassing, but Dag doesn’t say a word and later she brings her a few of the fat berries from the hydroponics, dried lizard and something green and slimy, but it’s food and the berries make up for the rest of the taste. 

 

She sleeps again through the night and wakes up to sunlight streaming in through her open door and only a little blood between her thighs. By tomorrow, she figures, she’ll be done. The pain is gone, but the nausea persists so Toast takes a little swig from the black bottle of Dag’s before getting dressed. The gift of Slit’s clinks softly as she moves about her room, slipping on her shirt, fresh thanks to Dag and a clean pair of pants. It’s sort of like music, as though there’s a few loose balls of metal inside that bounce around. _Detailed and meticulously crafted._ And it’s hers. 

 

 _He gave me something,_ Toast reminds herself. _A gift._ When has she ever been given something close to this before? She can’t think of anything, but it doesn’t matter because she’s got something now - something shiny and chrome.

 

She can’t help grinning on her way to the pits. It must be silly, she thinks, the look on her face as she walks her way past curious Warboys. They all must think she’s krazy, but that doesn’t matter. One group stops in the middle of welding a fender to the skeleton of a ‘72 Camaro, sparks hissing to nothing and dark sockets arched in question. A Warpup hops on his heels, following her a short ways while staring, telling her she looks _so chrome_ before losing interest and getting lost in the sea of never ending Warboys.

 

The pits are lively - full of bodies both short and tall but there’s no Slit. A shorter Warboy is helping the pups into their harnesses, strapping them in and sending them off down the line to throw their sticks at the battered dots on the walls. The Warpups are small, but ferocious…they’ll be fine Lancers when they grow up.

 

 

_“We heard you’s was bleeding out. Must’ve been lying.”_

 

Toast turns hard, surprised and worse yet it’s the Warboy with the forked tongue stare back at her. He’s sporting a new scabbed up ear that’s got messy stitches in it. It makes her lip curl. And the way he’s eyeing her distastefully, but interested makes her fingers curl - but she hasn’t bothered with a gun since the first day she’d come down here looking for Slit. Foolish... _this_ is what was foolish, not the emotions she’s been feeling - _this_ , right here makes her a fool. Weaponless with at least one Warboy that doesn’t like her.

 

He licks his upper lip, tongue wiggling in two different directions and Toast thinks that maybe instead he likes her too much.

 

Some of the Warboys are watching her, waiting maybe. 

 

“Real chrome…” he shifts and nods downwards. For a second she thinks he means something else, but he’s actually eyeing her wrist where Slit’s gift is clasped. Toast bites her tongue when an insult pulls at her throat, after a second she replies, “Thanks.” It’s better to be polite. She remembers the smiles she gave them and the respect she got in return - so she smiles too.

 

He nods, accepting her response, “Imperator Crass says you're trying for a Husband...says you want to get filled with a pup. I’ll give you a good one, I’ll-”

 

“No,” she spits out, then swallows and mutters, “Walk away…” Toast keeps her face blank before taking a step back. He grins and takes a step closer. Maybe he thinks it’s a game, but it’s not. 

 

“I’m not joking. Crass is wrong...I don’t-”

 

He grabs for her arm and she pulls back just in time, shocked - second time she’s not so lucky. A chorus of howls go up around her; chants and calls. It’s deafening and his short, black nails are breaking her skin...burning. Toast feels her breath lodge in her throat, but she kicks as soon as she realizes she’s having trouble screaming. 

 

The Warboy buckles, but grasps her ankle before she can aim another wobbled kick. That hand on her twists, cracks and then she hits the ground, a heavy weight on top of her. More noise that masks the racing of her heart - the sea of red - his eyes and forked tongue and heavy, rank breath.

 

Finally she yells, unclogging her throat when a wet warmth licks up her chin and her lips. Her teeth go into his cheek, biting hard. Heat and iron rush into her mouth and then she’s on top. The weights gone - she’s the weight and she reaches, grasps…

 

...then she’s lifted and Slit’s there.

 

Toast moves to her knees; jacked on krazy. Her fingers are vibrating and bloods running down her chin, soaking her shirt. Inside she’s a mess of adrenaline, watching Slit bash the Warboy’s face into the hard, cold ground. _No,_ he wasn’t going to just show up while she had the upper hand. Slit wasn’t going to pay hero - not today.

 

“Hey!” she screams, licking up the blood from her mouth with a sneer.

 

Slit pauses, one shaking fist poised by his head, ready to pop the hiccuping Warboy in the face again. His eye rolls to her, pupil blown.

 

“I was winning,” she spits, shoving her foot into Slit’s side. He tenses, arching the brow above his missing eye but she pokes again, harder and he goes onto his back like an upturned turtle almost, staring up at her; chastised and confused. There’s too much adrenaline flooding her veins...she doesn’t know what she wants more - to beat the shit out of the Warboy or fuck the look off Slit’s face.

 

Toast gives him a short smirk, seeing his eye go wide, before turning to the Warboy - he’s got a mangled cheek to match his ear. She’s not going to do either of the things she wants to do...

 

“I was winning,” she repeats, wiping the blood off her chin with her sleeve. “Right?”

 

The Warboy nods, looking at once terrified and enraptured while his face bleeds and his eyes start going black. Up high the Warboys and Warpups are hooting at her. Some of them give her the V8 salute while others shove their fists in the air. It’s the best feeling of her life and not for the first time does she look over at Slit, still on his back watching her with one hot eye and heavy, ragged breaths - and thinks he looks delicious.


	7. Part Seven (The Fool)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
>  
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heavy thanks to Trippy Hippie, twiggzzler, Zoadgo, CreepingBoNE, Daydreamisallihave, Liisiko, mikhyel, stracer, xenowhore, TawniToxic, redcandle17 and Jo for their wonderful comments. And thank you to all those that left Kudos. It means so much to know people are enjoying what I'm writing.
> 
> I also drew another thing, and it's dirty. I have no regrets...  
> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/post/129874554148/new-chapter-for-lizards-are-delicious-up-have
> 
>  
> 
> Here is the seventh part to this endeavor! Please let me know what you think down below (if you have the time).

While the Warboys and the Warpups are cheering, hooting - yelling - acting as a mass of energy and praise, Toast swipes away the blood from her lips and chin, huffing out a heavy breath.

 

Slit is still on his back, pushing up on his elbows dubiously as if she’s got a gun on his sternum or a knife up his inner thigh. It’s exhilarating and a part of her wants him to be afraid - to worry she might turn her sudden violent lust on him. But another need is running up her thighs, sending sparks under her nails and a wash of pleasure in her gut. In all honesty she just wants him...

 

“Get up, Slit,” she growls it - stepping with one foot between his legs as he starts shifting to his knees, inhaling hard when he gets close to her inner thighs, as if he can smell the heat coming off her. When he’s on his feet she grabs him by the scarf tied tight and messy around his neck, brings him down and bites his lips into a kiss that’s brimming with the excess violence.

 

The noises around her shift and he grins along her mouth. Toast feels his fingers rending at the buckle of her pants suddenly, working the canvas open to shove his fingers inside so quick she barely rips her mouth away before he’s reached her.

 

“Not here,” - it’s like a whine, like she’s begging, but he doesn’t argue, just hefts her up on his hip, holding her like he had before - like a small Warpup.. _.it’s embarrassing to an extent_ , she thinks. But in all truth she’s having a hard time doing much thinking at all.

 

The open buckle between her legs swings lose as he carries her off. The Warboy’s and the pups are still cheering and hollering at them - some of them are chanting _Lizard King_. It’s all terribly strange and intoxicating.

 

The bloodied Warboy on the ground avoids her eyes as Slit passes him. Maybe she shamed him, or maybe it’s the sight of her pants nearly halfway down her hips and the blood - his blood - still staining her face that turns his eyes away. She can taste it, the blood, when she licks at the corner of her mouth and it makes her squirm along the firm solidity of Slit’s side, pressing the ache into him and feeling a sweet spike in return.

 

‘I’m going to use my mouth,” Slit tells her, confident and at once daring her to argue as he pushes away a few lingering Warboys, hissing at any that can’t be bothered to move until they eventually part for him, staring hard at her.

 

“You’re not,” she argues.

 

“I am,” he growls back and she only kicks at him once when he sets her down on an empty bucket seat inside a small supply room, shoving her pants down her ankles and taking her boots with them. The cold clammy air clings to her skin, raises goosebumps down her legs and her thighs close to avoid the chill where she’s most hot.

 

Inside her chest, beneath her ribs, her heart is a caged crow trying to peck free. It hammers so hard while he unravels the fabric binding, that more than once Toast thinks she’s teetering on the brim of passing out. _‘No’_ is on her tongue, but she doesn’t want to say it - not this time. And a part of her is more exhilarated than appalled when she realizes he’d probably do it anyways, even if she did say _no_.

 

He handles her thighs roughly as he pulls the wraps free - takes her under the knees and pulls her forwards so hard her head bounces back on the seat. The way he’s behaving should perhaps worry her, or at least anger her. She never told him he could be rough or that he was allowed to do this, in fact she told him _no_ in all honesty. But he’s doing it anyways, spreading her thighs open and licking at her inner thigh, that thankfully, isn’t bloody.

 

 _Praise the Moon for small mercies,_ she thinks wildly.

 

Slit sounds only slightly disappointed when he informs her, “You’re not bleeding,” before his mouth splits into a wide, painful looking grin and he pulls her forward, leans in the rest of the way, latches his mouth along her and sucks.

 

At first it doesn’t feel great, almost like he’s trying to pull something out of her and it’s not working, but he grumbles, shifts on his knees and turns his chin to the side and then...a long, hot tongue slides inside her. It’s like a knife - and it’s slippery and burning and so bloody wonderful she jumps in the seat and sobs, nails digging into the seat.

 

Her vision blurs under glassy eyes...

 

Distantly she can hear shuffling feet close to the door - a door Slit didn’t even bother shutting properly. Just thinking about a bunch of envious, curious and fully grown Warboys lingering - listening, makes her thighs quiver as Slit holds them hard in his palms. He pushes them open wider and tries his hardest to reach the back of her with his tongue. Toast can feel him twisting it around, curling back on the roof of her - making those loud reptilian noises all the while. At once she want’s to pull away from the intensity of it and shove herself further on his tongue.

 

 _Fuck_ , she sighs, maybe says it out loud. It never felt this good when she touched those places inside herself, not even his fingers had felt like this…

 

“Slit...slit,” she begins but forgets what she was going to say. _Maybe it just felt good to say his name?_

 

The door creeks - Toast freezes and it takes Slit a second to pull his tongue out of her, hissing, before he’s at the door and slamming it shut. A large bin of junk get’s moved against the door, barricading them inside. The way it makes the muscles in his arms, bulge and slide - veins popping - sends another hard stab down her gut where she’s already throbbing with the loss of his mouth. It doesn’t help that he gets back on his knees so quick and eager he looks like a Wretched after water.

 

“Even better than lizard,” he tells her before giving her a long lick, that ends at that nub he’d found for her. It feels good but she screws her lips together at his _so called_ compliment. _Lizard? Really?_

 

Toast tries to kick at his shoulder again, unable to formulate proper words for some reason, but the sly bastard uses it to his advantage and brings her leg over his shoulder, tilting her hips just so. His tongue goes deep and when it flicks inside her she can’t help but moan - moan and sob and shift and grab the back of his head as if she could bring him further in than he already is.

 

 _Smeg,_ she thinks, _he’s a real smeg -_ but he’s stroking down the leg draped over his shoulder, thumbing the soft hair above her vulva and making the best and worst noises as he licks inside her like flames lick at tinder. He’s melting her from the inside out, but the feeling is nothing compared to when he slides upwards and sucks that nub into his mouth, working it with the tip of his tongue in firm patterns.

 

“They’re all listening,” she whimpers while he hitches her further up against his mouth. It’s a bit like the first time, just as unknown and exciting, but there’s a mix of fear to it as well. The fact that she can still hear the Warboys on the other side of the door only heightens the slick brushes of his tongue.

 

“You’re mine anyways,” he mutters against her, punctuating with a couple teasing licks. Somehow she can feel his smile on her…”and they know it.”

 

“You-” she starts, guzzoline in her gut, but his lips latch on that bundle again, drawing it in viciously. _Maybe,_ Toast thinks as her eyes flutter closed and that concentrated throb starts to expand, _maybe he’s hers and she’s his...maybe it doesn’t have to mean what she fears it means…_

 

Nux was Capable’s in a way, and vice versa. It meant something better than being owned - it didn’t mean becoming a mere thing or an object. _But..._ she can’t think anymore. That feeling is there, bright and heavy and hot and his tongue is only making it more so. Slit knows it too. The sounds he’s making up against her flesh - the eager and clumsy way he’s lapping up under her nub, pulling it between his lips and putting bruises in her thighs…

 

“...don’t stop,” she tells him, but it might sound less demanding and more needy.

 

The frenzy of his tongue is torture, grazing up high and then away as if he knows what he’s doing. _He can’t though,_ Toast tells herself as she grasps his head and presses him where she wants him - where he needs to be and he laughs at her, vibrating her so hard she jumps off the edge.

 

Toast is only dimly aware she’s got her nails dug in behind his ears, one of them shoved up on the healing stitches and another going wet with blood - but it’s his fault for drawing out the pleasure with firm, flat swipes of his tongue...so slow and knowing. Her eyes go back and all else but the feeling fades into darkness.

 

When she opens her eyes next, Slit is just a huge, wet grin staring up at her. It pains her to admit he’s deserving of that grin.

 

He nudges his nose along the top of her vulva, brushing the soft hairs, “Worth the stiffs I’ve had since you forgot about me.”

 

 _Forgot?_ Somehow she manages to scoff with her legs still open around his head and not think it comical. He’s a Warboy, she reminds herself, he doesn’t know everything...yet he knew what he was doing with his tongue…

 

“I didn’t forget about you - the bleeding was…” she tries, but he presses his cheek to her inner thigh and looks up at her with a smeg-eating grin that’s as endearing as it is annoying before giving her a gentle lick again. It sends a vibrant throb up her belly, “...ugh nevermind,” she moans, “Who taught you how to do this anyway? Nux show you on a bit of fruit or something?”

 

Slit’s nose scrunches up, “Froot? No - told me some stuff but the rest was all me.” He leans down to lick at her again but she jerks back, tightening her hold on his head. He’ll make her cry if he keeps it up.

 

“Too soon,” she mutters when he looks vaguely heartbroken at being denied.

 

While he’s helping her with the wraps, lingering around her vulva longer than necessary, giving it light touches almost reverently, she can’t help but feel a sudden shyness. He had his mouth down there...and the evidence was probably still on his mouth...if she kissed him…

 

“No need to worry about my thunderstick or anything,” he starts to say, about to poke fun at her maybe or get something in return, but Toast’s main focus is the shine on his lips that she knows must be his own saliva but still looks appealing.

 

Slowly she licks the leftover blood off her mouth and wipes at the corners with her fingers.

 

A little river of blood, skinny and dark, runs down the side of his neck where her nail went in too deep. Dimly she thinks to apologize, but it would be lost on him she thinks. Slit would probably take it as a sign of his prowess. While he’s still all grins, Toast reaches up and swipes the red line with her fingers, urging him down. He comes to her eagerly, seeming to know what she wants as though he can see the silent demands past her lips.

 

Slit tastes like nothing at first, but then he opens his mouth, slides his tongue up under her own and it’s there - the taste he spoke of. The raw tang that has a hint of something thick and alive. At first she doesn’t like it, but he groans loudly, pulls her in close and it changed on her pallet just like that. Maybe she didn’t taste like one of those fat, red berries, but something about it was so much better than the product of any green thing. It was _her_ and better yet it was _her on him_.

 

As she pulls away from his mouth, leaving him short of breath, her hands go to his belts, “Ready?”

 

Slit nods, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable as he pushes his hips into her fingers, watching her steadily unbuckle the clasps. He doesn’t help her this time, just stares.

 

It doesn’t take long to make him come either - with his forehead pushed down on her shoulder, lips moving as if in prayer on her skin, leaving it moist and hot. He makes a mess, or more like she makes a mess of him all over her own stomach. Trails of the warm wetness slide down her, soaking into the wraps around her hips, but it’s worth it for the way he’s shaking against her, tracing the curves of her back and squeezing where he can find a good bit to grip. Slowly he softens in her palm, still so hot and throbbing faintly.

 

“You’re Valhalla…”

 

Toast goes still as he whispers it, and only when he sighs, nuzzling her neck gently does she move to lay him back in the confines of his pants, buckling him back behind layers of leather and canvas. Her heart beats heavy as he brushes her body with soft touches, seemingly enjoying himself. It’s like she can pacify him like this, which is an odd and powerful thought.

 

“Slit,” she whispers, and waits for him to pull himself off her neck to look at her; hazy and one-eyed, “I wanted to thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” he smirks and one of his hands slips down her backside, grabbing a fist full of her arse.

 

It feels good, but she shakes her head, trying to keep her eyes from crinkling in pleasure, “I mean the bracelet, it’s real...shine,” and as if he couldn’t look any more pleased than he does now, he grins in a ray of teeth and tongue that rivals all his others. It’s a terrifying expression. Before she knew him it might have sent her backwards, but right now it’s just nice to see him so pleased.

 

“I stole the faceplate from a Polecat,” he tells her, still grinning and squeezing, “shaved the leather from my belt, now you got me where ever you go.” Toast wasn’t sure what to say to that. Whether to tell him he wasn’t an extension of the object he wore or she didn’t need him to always be with her...or if she was thankful for the thought and the affection he had for her, which was true, but no less difficult to tell him.

 

Instead she smiled and kissed his cheek. His nose rubbed up under her jaw as she tried to pull on her pants.

 

“Maybe you should go first,” she nodded to the door, “wouldn’t want all your envious Warboys to-”

 

He laughs and picks her up again without a word - coddles her like a Warpup and she only turns her eyes to the side and puts on a sneer for the sake of it. It wouldn’t do for him to think she enjoyed this belittling treatment, but he does it anyways so.. _.pointless_ , she thinks as he ankles the bin of rubbish out the way and opens the door.

 

There’s a only a few Warboys hovering, most of them have wandered off back to what they were enjoying before. Those that are lingering only watch her as Slit carries her off.

 

When they’re finally spotted out in the open pits, a bunch of them shout down words of _‘witnessed!’_ and _‘immortal’_ , some even chant her name _‘toast, toast...toast!’_. It doesn’t take long to make her uncomfortable so she kicks a gloating Slit with her heel after a few seconds of the noise and he snorts before hefting her up, walking them out of the pits.

 

“You know,” she starts as he steps through filthy puddles and around corners with ease, “Nux got Capable with a baby…”

 

“Like a pup?” he sounds unconvinced.

 

“Yea…” she wraps an arm around his shoulders as he hops over a deeper dip in the path, his arm going tight around her, “she told us all that night in the Mouth of Madness...has Nux said anything to you?”

 

“Haven’t seen that mediocre shit  since he told me about the tongue thing,” he admits, then gives her a wide side grin, tongueing the side of his mouth fetchingly. If he keeps it up she’ll find excuses to keep those lips busy. Toast figures he’ll enjoy that too much though so she bites her lower lip to keep the threat stifled.

 

“I never really thought much about pups and babies after the Road,” she admits after a while. It’s true, she didn’t even think much about them when she decided she wanted a Warboy of her own - or when she decided to pursue Slit. But pups came with fucking or _making lov_ e as her sisters called it - that word was still sickly sweet, even just thinking it.

 

Toast shifted, ignored the twinge of pleasure as his hip pressed hard between her thighs, and imagined Slit as a father. She imagined he’d be like he was after she made his jump of the cliff, but that was unreasonable to think he’d be such all the time. Maybe she wasn’t meant for babies though. They never did take...but Joe was sickly…

 

Slit was strong...all the Warboys were now. Healthy too - who’s to say it wouldn’t be as simple as once with him? Did she even want that to happen? Especially now that she was her own person - no longer a thing. Maybe it was worth reading a few more word burgers about it. There were times in the cycles they were left alone, maybe it was as simple as waiting for the right time, or wrong time...depending on what the desired results were. Toast decided she’d ask the Vuvalini about it.

 

 _“Toast,”_ a firm, gentle tone called.

 

Toast looked up, found herself in front of the Vault - somehow so lost in thought she couldn’t even remember Slit taking the stairs. Was he so sure footed or was she so -

 

Furiosa stood, flesh and metal crossed under her chest, watching them in solemn amusement.

 

Immediately Toast wiggled, shoving at Slit’s chest only when he hesitated to set her down. He did eventually, but she could hear his cold grumble as he moved to touch his thigh to her backside, not willing to lose the physical contact just yet it seemed.

 

“I’m going to need to take the Warboy off your hands. We’ve spotted a vehicle coming from the east,” there’s a strange lilt to her voice, something like hope and Toast only nods, eyes wide. Furiosa would have said Buzzards if they were, and the treaties between Gastown and Bullet Farm were holding firm. It couldn’t have been anyone else...could it?

 

Behind her Slit’s energy changes dramatically - she could feel him shifting against her arse, nearly vibrating. He was a Warboy. It’s what he was raised to be, even if Toast didn’t understand it sometimes. Warboys like Slit and Nux were what kept them safe.

 

“Don’t let him get anymore burns,” Toast mutters, feigning disconcern so as not to let the wriggling snake of fear in her belly grow any bigger.

 

Furiosa nods once - a simple tilt of her chin and pushes off the wall.

 

“Let’s go then, Warboy.”

 

Slit shifts behind her, then Toast feels a brush of his nose on her neck and then a wet kiss just under her ear and he’s gone, following his Imperator as eagerly as he followed with her into the storage room. She wishes she’d had a chance to do the same to him before he left, but maybe it was best she didn’t. That coil of worry was vicious as she went to the Mouth of Madness. It was there she hovered, gripping one stone tooth, waiting. It must have been an hour before the platform was lowered.

 

From up high she couldn’t make him out from the small white splotches of Warboy’s, but she thought she saw him banging on the roof of a Fairlane…

 

It didn’t matter though. Soon enough the trail they blazed out into the distance was just sand again and the sun was at it’s zenith.

 

A little flash on the horizon spoke of a vehicle - _the vehicle,_ but she couldn’t be sure.

 

One of the Milk Mothers came to sit with her a little later in the day, and then there came Dag and Cheedo and still the party hadn’t returned. Sometimes Toast could swear she saw them dusting in the distance, but it always ended up being a sand twister or the trick of the eye. As the sun dropped it became harder to tell what she was seeing.

 

“I don’t see what you’re so worried about. He’s older than Nux, he’s made more runs than you can count I’m sure,” The Dag mutters behind her, Cheedo at her side, braiding her hair quietly. Her youngest sister still had yet to speak to her.

 

“I can count very high,” she replied, never looking away from the stretch of red sand.

 

The Dag just snorted softly, flipping another page of her word burger as Cheedo began to fill the silence with a delicate hum. Toast relaxed with the sound, pressing her chin over her arm as she lay against the stone tooth, watching and waiting. She thought about Capable and how Dag had told her the sickness had started - how she was asleep already, nauseous and worried for Nux. Her fear made sense now, and not just because she was with his sprog, but because Toast felt a similar feeling as she felt the breeze tease the hair on her forehead. Toast was worried...

 

Eventually her mind wandered, “Do you think Capable did something to keep away the sprog?”

 

“It didn’t seem so,” Cheedo whispers, a slight measure of disapproval in her voice. Toast rolled her eyes, even if she didn’t feel offended - it was more habit when Cheedo acted as such.

 

The Dag only laughed, laying her swollen ankles over Toasts thighs with a cheeky smirk, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Is the Warboy not worthy of the honor?”

 

Toast just shrugged, “Between you and Capable there’ll be enough babies to handle. A miniature Slit running around...I shudder to imagine.” That get’s Cheedo to giggle and smile her way. The Dag only smirks and rubs a hand down her belly. Toast can’t help but smirk back at her sisters.

 

“Maybe,” The Dag tells her, “I have a green thing to keep the womb barren, but Capable didn’t ask for any...even though I offered. Perhaps it’s not so easy as we thought.”

 

In the distance Toast catches a flash, and then dust and metal and the party, plus one.

 

“I’d like some of it,” she tells Dag, watching, licking her lips as the sounds of burning guzzoline and blazing Warboys reaches the echo of the Wretched and her own hammering heart. He better be down there...cause her gut is telling her that he isn’t and even though Toast knows it’s silly. She can’t help but remove Dag’s ankles from her thighs, set them gently as she can over a stool and peel off out of the Mouth like a crow from it’s cage.

 

The Dag’s high laughter follows at her heels until she reaches the stairs, and from there it’s just her heavy breaths and the blood rushing in her ears - the taste of him and her in her mouth.

 

Her bare feet ache on the stone and start to throb once she touches down on sun heated metal. The garage is a mess of bodies. Loud guzzes of engines and spitting exhaust pipes. Amidst the chaos she hears the twang of War and see the blind Warboy in red, strumming and grinning, strapped down on the warm hood of Mother’s Fury. Furiosa is still behind the wheel, head turned away with a frown, or maybe it’s not one.

 

Toast can only hold still as a group of Warboy’s slide past her, carrying buckets of sand to toss over the heated engine of one vehicle that’s smoking slowly down the way.

 

The lift goes back down to gather up more from the party.

 

Quickly Toast moves, seeing her opening and squeezes past to hop on the side of the Mother’s Fury, sparing a few seconds glance at the blissed out Doof Warrior, tapping his crossed ankles and playing a War that’s no more.

 

Furiosa jerks when she sees her, surprised maybe but offers a strange smile. She’s covered in sweat and dust, but it’s nothing like the Road, and they both sense it, know it and Toast smiles back despite the claw of worry in her stomach.

 

“Unharmed?” Toast asks, demands more like.

 

“Unburned, and alive. We had company - two Buzzards got the jump on us when we were stopped. You’re Warboy took a tumble, but they like bruises,” she tells her, all the while her eyes are wandering ahead as the lift settles with the last band of vehicles, pouring out hopped up Warboy’s. The plus-one is there too. And it’s the Fool...just as expected.

 

“Look’s like you’re Fool took a tumble too,” Toast mutters, seeing the dried red painting the side of his neck and the eye that’s starting to swell.

 

Off to the side she sees Slit lying on the hood of Nux’s car, splayed out on his back with his arms spread wide - a big grin on his face from the looks of it. It's uncanny how similar he appears now to when she had him on her bed, soft cock on his stomach. He looks no less intact and healthy, Toast makes a prayer like The Dag and smiles.

 

Toast watches a giddy Nux slide out the window of his car and knock a blissful Slit over the head. Slit barks, bounces up and jerks his hips into the car like he’s fucking it and grins once Nux starts to laugh. For all his shit talking about Nux, she sees none of the hostility as they mock fight over the roof of the car.

 

A part of her wishes she could just follow Slit around the rest of the day, unnoticed to see how he is when she’s not around; demanding all of his attention.

 

Furiosa clears her throat, and Toast looks back to find her smirking, “Yeah yeah,” Toast mutters, hopping off her vehicle, “Play time with the Fool…” she smiles though, happy, “Tell him I said thanks.”

 

“Will do,” she replies, taking the Mother’s Fury down the length of the garage, into a throng of thirsty-for-chrome Black Thumbs.

 

Toast stands atop one of the dividers, away from the hustle of chrome and buzz - watches from afar the Fool and Furiosa speaking, always short and clipped and then the gentle touch of fingers to his face where the blood had poured. It’s sweet and gentle and understanding, and Toast feels another emotion that’s fragile.

 

Hope - she thinks as she turns to catch Slit racing towards her, fresh bruises spiking up his arm and ribs. He’s grinning and out of breath and when he grabs her around the middle and pulls her up against his chest he’s soaked with heat, brimming with sweat and pays her no mind when she squirms against him, just licks her neck, bites her ear and tells her in a ragged, sand-torn voice, “I know how to rut you proper now.”

  
It’s the first time Toast has ever wanted to simultaneously kiss and kill Nux.


	8. Part Eight (The Confession)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big, huge thank you to redcandle17, Mickymoon, Zoadgo, crazytreeotaku, Trippy Hippie, hyaenahyaena, Duarte89, RubyQuinn, xenowhore, chromeshaft, Daydreamisallihave, Liisiko, tatecorrigan, kismet76, Jo, kiss_from_arose, CorditeQuill and NickieSays. You all really help keep me invested in this fic! Also thank you to those that left kudos as well.
> 
> If you have time please leave me your thoughts down below. Enjoy part eight!

Toast is ashamed to admit she spends the next three solid days avoiding the eager Lizard King that’s decided to take that appealing swagger of his up to the highest level - seemingly sniffing her out no matter where she goes. Obviously chuffed with himself and his newfound knowledge.

 

Whatever Nux has disclosed to him has made him even more poised than usual. She’s tried to drag out of Capable some of it, but her sister has been listless and just waves her _‘badgering’_ away like she’s overreacting or something. It doesn’t help that Nux doesn’t seem to know what the problem is, or what it was he said to his lancer either. All she got out of the sweet, smiling Warboy is a bunch of things he does to Capable that Toast was better off not knowing.

 

Toast can’t be sure the Warboy is smart enough to lie to her about it for Slits sake...or if he honestly has no clue what he said or didn’t say to his Lancer. Maybe it was just the same list he gave her that morning - the list she needs to find a way to wash from her mind at all cost. If those things were what Slit now knows...she’s fucked. _Literally, maybe..._

 

It’s confusing. The whole thing is confusing. At the beginning of this she’d wanted nothing more than to snatch Slit up and fuck him proper. Preferably in the closest private alcove to the pits with the barest amount of clothing shifted to accomplish the task. Feelings other than to get rid of the ache between her legs didn’t factor into any of it - so when did they become the whole reason behind it? _How did you do those things with feelings involved anyhow?_ She knew of the affection for her sisters but affection for a Warboy? A week ago no one would dare bring up the subject to her without it having Capable’s name in front of it.

 

The Dag was of no help either - only grimacing at the questions Toast asked. It was made even more embarrassing when she realized the blind Warboy, Coma, had been obscured by the bushes on Dag’s side the whole time, grinning at some wet seeds in his palms - a grin that was obviously meant for her.

 

The color didn’t come back to her face for an hour or so afterward. Just thinking about how the Warboys gossiped.

 

They didn’t understand how things could potentially be private - this was a problem that Toast winced her way through with each stair-step she descended. She wanted to turn back to the gardens several times to threaten the Doof Warrior - to tell him to keep his mouth shut, but she never went back.

 

She’d just have to deal with the repercussions maturely.

 

_“Where do you think you’re going?”_

 

 _Right on time,_ she thought while the blood rushed into her cheeks.

 

Slit was perched up on one of the banisters built into the stairwell; boots kicked up on the divots and forearms resting on his thighs - a devil in his eye. She swallowed thick and hard, staring at the thick fingers curling loosely between his legs. They are covered with what looked like dried blood, but Toast was a bit too spooked to ask who it could have been from. There was, however, something rather intoxicating about the addition it made to his already primal form. 

 

 _Ugh,_ she frowned, now she was stuck in a lizard hole, so to speak - already eyeing him without any reason too. It shouldn’t have been this complicated and what was worse is she knew she was the only one making it so. He seemed to have no such reservation about how he felt. For him, it seemed so simple.

 

“Somewhere…” she mumbled, deciding whether to run left or right and how fast she could pick up speed before his longer reach ended the chase earlier than she wanted.

 

The first time she tried to avoid him had been eventful, in the aspect that it hadn’t lasted long, and she’d ended up thrown over his shoulder just at the lip of the garage for a whole host of Black Thumbs to witness. Toast was sure Nux had seen it too since she heard from Capable the next morning about it with great amusement…he only let her down after letting loose a loud scream that spooked him more than she’d expected.

 

“Somewhere? I’ll come then,” he said in a rumble, low and thick- a timbre that did things to her insides she wasn’t so proud to admit.

 

Slit slid off the banister, leveling his shoulders and waited with the air of someone who knew they’d get their way one way or another. If she ran, he’d catch her, and that appealed to her baser side more than she wanted to admit. Knowing he could get her made her want to run...like she wanted to be caught. It had felt stimulating...the first time...and no matter how much she fought the flutter in her gut, there was no denying the way he made and subsequently took away the ache between her legs.

 

“Why don’t you go do something else, I’ll come and find you went I need you,” she offered, muttering.

 

“I need you,” he grunted, piercing the bubble of her personal space with one long stride forward, “So I found you.”

 

“Yeah?” she asked, smirking despite herself, “and what did you need me for?” His body heat soaked through the thin material of her shirt, baking off him in waves that created a thin layer of sweat on the back of her neck.

 

That confidence seemed to fade from him - body and expression all. It was like he wasn’t sure what he needed her for, just that he did. Slit shook himself off, like shedding old skin before he grinned down at her - that sureness back, “Wanted to do things with you - to you. Things. Anything.”

 

At least he didn’t jump out and say he wanted to rut her over Nux’s coupe this time. As if he could kill two crows with one stone - stick it to her and stick it to his traitor Driver too. That suggestion had not gone well for him…

 

“Slit,” she tried - attempted to come up with some excuse to get away from him. Something erratic was buzzing, moving around inside her belly, pleasant but unknown. The sensation wasn’t like the desire she had between her legs, but it wasn’t too far removed either.

 

 _Just a couple more days._ She just needed a little bit more time to process everything - to figure it all out. There would be no figuring things out with him following her everywhere. Especially if he just popped up out of nowhere like this. He was distracting her from her thoughts, and she had decided that was a bad thing awhile ago.

 

Her eyes snapped up when she felt his knuckle trace her jawline, ripping her from a downward spiral of her imagining. _It was all in her head,_ Toast knew.

 

Slit just stared down at her, a serious expression on his face - that one red eye searching her own with short quick flickers, trying to find something she didn’t know was obvious or not. It didn’t seem he found what he was looking for, because his lips curled downward, making the skin around his scars wrinkle. It looked painful - his expression and she unconsciously wanted to smooth the lines away.

 

Toast put a hand to his chest, feeling the rough texture of old war paint. She felt a strong urge to comfort him or maybe reassure him of something she couldn’t name even for herself. The tiny gesture appeared to be all he needed because his large palms folded over her back and then his lips were brushing hers so softly it couldn’t have been a real kiss. _Word burger-like...loving and delicate._

 

_Sure, he was sweeter than expected after he spilled himself, but this was…_

 

Toast moaned, unable to swallow it as he ran his mouth down her chin; around the curve of her jaw where his fingers had traced. So light and barely there, yet it struck Toast more than anything else he’d done these past few days. Even if it made her feel fragile - like a firmer touch might shatter her - it was still enough to make her knees feel absent.

 

“Slit,” she moaned again, more thoughtless words ready to spill, but he suddenly held her firm, covering her mouth with his in a kiss that sucked the air from her lungs.

 

 _Okay,_ she thinks blearily, _he can win this time._

 

Her back touches the banister, first soft and then hard, cool and unrelenting while his mouth is hot and malleable, sliding wet against her own. When did he turn her around? Why didn’t she realize it and why was she letting him get his way…? _Because it feels good,_ a part of her whispers, eager to arch her back and feel the outline of his stiff thunderstick strangled in his pants. Just knowing it’s there makes her smile against his lips, amused in a small way.

 

Toast gasps when he releases her mouth, and she spends a good amount of time catching her breath, receiving wet, hot kisses down her neck, along her breasts through her shirt. He unintentionally brushes a nipple, and it goes hard. That pleasure tickles much further down than it ought to. 

 

 _Not here,_ she thinks.

 

 _Yes, right here_ \- while he’s licking at her stomach, already on his knees, furiously unbuckling her pants and letting the weight of them pool at her ankles. His tongue reaches out - pink and glistening - and Toast has a single second where she decides to hell with it. Why bother fighting something that didn’t need fighting, especially when no harm came from it and it felt so wonderful. 

 

Slits pulls her in by the hips, feasts at her center and drinks from her like she’s some fountain. It’s all just a mess of sweet flowery words inside her head and a heavy sigh and moans that fall out her mouth. More than once she mumbles his name, maybe she even begs him once or twice.

 

“Don’t need to rut,” he grunts into her sodden flesh, groaning at whatever it is he tastes as his tongue slides inside her briefly. The shock of pleasure is just as intense as the first time he did this.

 

“Can do this forever,” a rough lick at her nub that makes her shake, “if you want…”

 

_Yes…_

 

The feeling rushes up, but it’s hard to welcome it while standing upright. She feels like her insides might drop out, even with her hands on his shoulders and his fingers tight around her hips. Toast shivers, feels weaker than she wants to, but Slit tells her how good she tastes and how much he wants to bathe in her, and it breaks the damn inside. It’s a flood this time - the whole feeling is like a spreading wave lapping at her and it leaves her with her arse sitting in his hands and a very pleased looking Slit at eye level while the rush lulls into a waking coma.

 

At once she’s annoyed, and then she’s vaguely disgusted as he kisses her cheek with his warm wet lips, still coated in her. But he’s so proud of himself and the way he holds her close is so secure - that it’s hard not to love him.

 

And then there it is. _Love..._

 

Toast knows she must look horrified because the look on Slit’s face drops.

 

 _She loves him...bloody hell_ \- and it has nothing to do with the Warboy thing he does to her. It’s incredible, of course, to jump off the cliff with him and all, but she…

 

She loves him, and it’s a more pure a feeling than the one between her legs. It’s also the most terrifying feeling in the world. _The Road had been easier. Joe had been easier..._

 

Slit mutters sweet things against her neck, things that are so soaked with affection she can’t understand them, but she doesn’t need to. Quickly she untangles herself from him, ignoring the way he practically whimpers as she shoves his desperate, clinging hands away.

 

“What’s wro-” he hisses, but she pushes at his chest again, shutting him down, not even thinking to catch the broken look on his face as he goes back on his elbows. Toast thinks he says something else, but it’s low and - _No,_ she doesn’t hear him. She’s already buckling her pants back, stepping around him, still laid out on the floor looking a mixture of confused, distressed and maybe even embarrassed. Toast doesn’t know. Can’t look at him. Has to leave... _she has too._

 

Toast stares at the fork in the corridor, turns left and doesn’t look back.

 

It’s another two full days, and the night is on its way when Toast watches Nux moving his palms over Capable’s flat stomach and realizes she hadn’t seen Slit once since he caught her at the stairwell.

 

Coma - the Doof Warrior is up in the gardens as well, as he always seems to be when she needs The Dag to call her mind back down - set her straight. The blind Warboy is patting down dirt into pots, more aggressive than Toast thinks he should be since the sprouts him and Dag are planting look so fragile and thin. 

 

 _“I feel it!”_ Nux exclaims loudly, pushing the side of his head to her sister’s belly. It’s adorable, but Toast just scoffs at them and hugs her knees more tightly. 

 

Even Cheedo is laying out blankets with her gang of Warpups, ready for the blood moon that the Vuvalini had declared to be tonight. Everyone has someone. Dag with the ugly, blind Warboy. Capable with sweet, dedicated Nux and Cheedo with her pups that worship her as a mother. It had always been hard to feel alone and sometimes that’s all Toast wanted to be, was alone for a little while, but it’s a terrible feeling now and she can’t help but replay the hurt on Slit’s face when she shoved him away. 

 

It was cruel of her to do that too him, she knows that, but even still the realization terrifies her. 

 

Back on that first day from the Road, Toast had been there when Capable broke down - the lust for life leaving her as she mourned her fallen Warboy. For days she hadn’t eaten or moved, barely letting any of them give her enough water to get by. It was like watching her sister, always so healthy and capable, decompose for no reason. But Nux came back, and she’s never seen Capable that way since, but what that sort of love did to a person was clear.

 

 _Love was a disease_ \- that’s what Toast gathered, and now she loved Slit and aside from the potential rotting away she’d do if she lost him, there was also the question of if he felt the same way for her. Nux loved Capable. It was easy to see that. And Toast knew Slit enjoyed her company, even without the prospect of physical intimacy. He didn’t seem bothered or worried he wouldn’t feel the drop like she did, only seemed to care about her and if she felt it. That knowing went against everything she knew about men, though...

 

It hurt her head just trying to think about it.

 

 _“You’re going to have to wait another moon turn before you notice a difference,”_ Capable says, pulling Nux in by his red, happy cheeks and kissing him soundly.

 

Toast watched on under her lashes, dropping her chin to her knees. That ache of desolation festered, cold and numb and not even the stars could make her feel less alone while Capable kissed and held her Warboy in a nest of blankets and pillows. Nor could she pretend The Dag didn’t have a soft spot for the blind one as she brushed dirt off his chin, smiling, muttering something that made the Doof Warrior grin that nasty smile of his.

 

Cheedo pointed up at the stars, a word burger in her lap and pups surrounding her with full, glassy eyes and shy smiles. One of them happily peeling an apple, handing out slices with pure glee.

 

Toast got up and left without a word...without anyone noticing.

 

She had a few hours until the blood moon if she even bothered to watch it. From what she was told it sounded at once fantastic and pointless. But The Dag stressed it’s meaning; planting and seeding and procreation. _Fertility._ All of those things equally of little interest to her. Besides, her mind was far too occupied by a particular Lizard and his special pension for making her stomach flutter.

 

She’d either see the moon or she wouldn’t - it made no difference as long as she found Slit. If anything she had to apologize to him and, if she could stomach it, maybe tell him how she feels. But just thinking about confessing it to him makes her want to turn around again. Toast refuses to hide up high with everyone else, pretending she doesn’t feel the way she does. She needs to find her Warboy and - and say something.

 

Toasts journey feels like it takes seconds and hours all at once.

 

He’s not in the pits, and none of the Warboys that have the courage to speak to her know where he is. A pup tells her he’s in the Organics, but she finds nothing but a few sleepy Warboys getting a top up before the days over. They don’t know where he is either and with each shrug and shake of the head she gets, her gut feels that much more cumbersome and sick. 

 

A panic starts to settle within her, high up where she tries to swallow the tightness of it back down, but it only continues clawing like some burrowing animal. Her heart is racing by the time she’s circled back around to the entrance of the Warboy’s domain once again. The stone arch, wet and shiny with condensation glares at her.

 

Slits not here, she realizes. He’s gone. _Where to?_ She doesn’t know, but she leans on the stone wall and worries her thumb, thinking.

 

 _If she were Slit, where would she go?_ It would depend on how badly she hurt him. 

 

If he still had some fight in him, he’d probably be out looking for her. If not then maybe he’d be out on the sand. She wouldn’t go out there. The Wretched still terrified her, and they were not without their vices even with access to regular water. She decided, after accepting her fear for the other option, to head to the Vault on a gamble. 

 

 _Maybe,_ she thought.

 

He’d never been to the Vault without her leading him, but if he were desperate - it seemed like something he might do. Toast hoped she’d find him there, held onto the image of him sitting on her bed waiting for her as she took the stairs, counting her breaths, hoping to relax by the time she saw him. 

 

The second she gets a good view of the Vault over the top of the stairs she spies him, Slit himself, sitting by the entrance, legs splayed out in front of him with his head rolled back against the wall, facing up; eyes closed.

 

Panic morphs into moderate anxiety and for a full minute she couldn’t move. Even in the dim light of the lanterns, she could see where patches of his war paint were worn away. Blood stained his collar bone, down his chest - dried rivers of it spilled down, staining the hem of his pants. She took another step and saw a muddy looking rag wrapped around his hand, a poorly done up bandage.

 

 _He’s been fighting,_ she thinks and immediately feels that guilt rush again like vomit in the back of her throat.

 

“Slit…” she whispers, not sure why she doesn’t shout his name since she feels like yelling...but he looks tired and half-dead from where she’s standing.

 

Toast opens her mouth again but his lone eye snaps open. The way he rolls the red to her is lazy, and it takes him awhile to recognize her. Even then he doesn’t smile, just exhales heavily through his nose and closes his eye again, defeated. There’s something about it that makes Toast pick up her feet, find the floor beside him with her knees and take his weak jaw in her palms. _He looks awful…_

 

One of his cheeks is swollen, a deep laceration beside his ear and one of the staples below has ripped the surrounding skin and bled. His body is a canvas of bruises with dirt, blood and sweat mixed in with the white paint. Someone gave him a good beating.

 

“Slit...what happened?”

 

He chuckles, eye still closed and mutters something about being bored, “...nothing else to do,” before he slips his tongue out and licks her wrist with a lazy grin, humming.

 

For a second she scoffs at him, annoyed that she can be so worried about him yet he can be so nonchalant about being practically no more than a walking bruise. But when he tries to sit up and growls, pained - she forgets to be frustrated, because all she can think about is getting him tucked away in her room so she can heal him...care for him, nurture him and kiss away the pain. It’s all very simpering and disgusting, yes, but Toast can’t find it in herself to care as she checks him for any broken bones. Thankfully she finds none and with a couple words of encouragement he manages to get himself on his feet - her arm around his waist not much help, or maybe it’s because it’s there that he wants to get up.

 

“Come on, my silly Warboy...a dumb smeg in truth. How you find this fun I’ll never know,” she chastises, trying to hide her smile.

 

He smirks, licks at the split in his lower lip and gives her shoulder a weak squeeze, humming raggedly again. _He got what he wanted;_ she realizes with a smirk of her own.

 

If she finds out he got himself hurt for some sympathy she’ll try and find it in her to be angry. But that will have to be later. Right now all she wants is to clean him up, dress his wounds and tell her what she needs to - wants to and has to.

 

“Don’t freak out, but you’re about to get a bath,” she tells him, bringing him into the middle of the Vault where the warm water is steaming and bright. The look on his face is part horror and part awe, but he seems to settle on silent eagerness. She’s been meaning to bring him here for awhile in all honesty, just to see how he acts - if he does the splashing like Nux or settles for quiet appreciation like she does.

 

Toast presses him down on one of the flat benches, watches him wince and favor his right thigh before covering it up with a stern turn of his mouth. That look gets burnt away when her fingers go to his belts, replaced with something fragile and pleased, “Now?” he asks, shivering as she opens his pants, exposing a cock that’s slowly growing larger; harder.

 

“No…” she laughs, “you need to be naked if I’m gonna get you in the pool.”

 

He swallows audibly as she sinks to her knees, unbuckling the clasps on his boots, snapping off the pocket knife and shucking them off. The left boot is full of blood, and it turns her stomach as she sees where a callus on his foot has busted; raw and swollen.

 

“By the moon,” she murmurs, looking up at him with concern. He doesn’t seem worried about it, nor does he look like he’s in much pain anymore. His thunderstick is stiff, pressed up high against his dirty stomach, blushing and so swollen she imagines it bursting with a simple poke. The look on his face is scrunched, not in pain but something else.

 

“Are you going to suck my cock?” he blurts out.

 

“W-what?” it’s immediate how the blood floods her face and her fingers clench in the loose fabric of his pants. Maybe she sounds and looks more horrified than she actually is because he immediately starts shaking his head as if to take it back.

 

Slit swallows again and the bulge in his throat bobs alluringly, “No - just thought…” then he hangs his head and puts a palm over his cock, as if hiding it from her, ashamed. Toast doesn’t really know what to say. He’s filthy, and her nose wrinkles at the thought of putting her mouth on him like this. Probably tastes like blood and paint, she thinks in disgust, but that’s not fair because he was more than eager to clean the blood off her with his tongue and lips alone. She blushes hard, turning her face to try and hide it but he mutters an apology that should have come out of her mouth first, and she can’t stop herself from leaning up and giving the back of his hand, still covering his cock, a light kiss. Toast can’t help but notice how raw his knuckles look when the smell of blood reaches her nostrils.

 

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” she begins, staring up at him, seeing his wide eye watching her, “...about the other day...I shouldn’t have ran off like that. It’s just that...you - I really care about you...” it makes no sense but Toast can’t find the right words no matter how hard she tries.

 

Slit nods, looking less than coherent, but maybe that’s her fault too.

 

His cock is leaking, and she left him alone that day after he licked between her legs. He’s done it twice now, and she never thought to do it for him too. It’s a thing she’s never done, but she’s not unaware of it - that it’s a thing people do. Capable does it and though it was never a thing forced on them something about it makes Toast nervous. There’s no reason for it, and the more she kneels against him, the less the smell of him bothers her. In fact, she inhales and finds that her mouth starts to water as if she wants to taste him despite the blood and the sweat…

 

Like everything about her right now, the desire to do this to him terrifies her. 

 

“Have,” she takes another breath, this time through her teeth to avoid the heady aroma of him, “you ever had it sucked before?”

 

She knows some of the Warboys release tension in ways other than fighting. The thought of Slit grunting at the touch of another Warboys mouth around his cock fills her with both jealousy and longing.

 

“Seen it done, never got one though...don’t want nothing from anyone else,” it’s a breathy confession, and again he swallows, his fingers curling around his cock, squeezing as if to take the edge off. A bead of moisture wells at the tip and Toast licks her lower lip without thinking. She should bathe him before even thinking about this...but…

 

Her fingers slide up between his thighs, feeling rough, bloodstained fabric itch under her palms before her fingertips touch his sides, thumb on the deep scar there. _She’s going to do it;_ she realizes blearily. She’s going to, and she wants to and needs it. So when she leans in she’s not nearly as surprised as Slit is, even though she’s the one with his thick taste flooding over her tongue.

 

“Don’t have to-” he lurches, hissing as she closes her lips around the tip of him where the clear fluid leaks and bursts with salt. She peels his hand from his cock, feeling him shaking and pushes it away before stroking her fingers down the length.

 

_“...fangin’ V8...fang it…”_

 

He’s hot, and the skin is soft though he’s as hard as rock underneath, and she gasps as it throbs against her mouth, coinciding perfectly with a loud groan above. Already he’s uttering nonsense, words of prayer and chants and choked moans before she even gets the courage to lower her mouth fully on him. Slit is long and thick and nothing like she was used too, which is wonderful...but she can’t go as far down as she likes - the rest she wraps her fingers around and works firmly, giving him a firm, wet suck.

 

“Now” he grunts, and then more desperate, “...now, now!”

 

Toast doesn’t pull away in time, not fully realizing he could finish so quickly, and a flood of his seed fills her mouth, some leaking down her chin thickly. It’s not very pleasant, and she makes a strange noise before swallowing what’s already sliding down her throat. The taste is dark, and it clings to her inner cheeks and tongue like that sweet syrup The Dag collects from the bugs, but it’s not sweet - it’s salty and a bit sour. Not the most pleasant taste and the texture is unappealing but despite all of that she likes it somehow…

 

“...made me mediocre,” he groans, running his large palms along the back of her head and neck. 

 

Toast swipes at the thick line on her chin with her thumb, gives him a trying smile and licks it off. The sight seems to undo him, because he plucks her up and pulls her against his stomach, leaning down to clean the rest of her chin with hot, flat licks of his tongue. For some reason, it’s this that makes her stutter. The fact that he’s enjoying his taste makes her stomach clench violently, and she wants to push him down on the ground, straddle his mouth and -

 

Slit kisses her, slips his tongue into her mouth and Toast sighs, tasting the copper of blood on his broken lip as she wraps her arms around his neck. _He’s perfect,_ even though she won’t ever tell him that - no sense in making him any more chuffed than he already is…

 

“Slit,” she mutters around his tongue, nips at it with her teeth and is rewarded with a ragged groan.

 

“You taste better,” he admits, leaving her mouth to take the rest of his taste off her chin with lips, teeth and tongue, “...but I ain’t bad.”

 

“I like it,” she confesses, and he pauses, pulls back and watches her with that one red eye, disbelieving. It makes her laugh, almost light enough to be a giggle and tugs at his pants.

 

“Come on, help me get these off you. You’re even messier now than when I found you.” It’s not really true, but he helps her, and when she stands up and pulls him to his feet he comes more than willing to the bath.

 

 _Who needs the blood moon,_ she thinks happily as he hisses the moment he sets his feet down into the hot water. Slit grunts, almost whimpers and gives a long, gratifying sigh as she pushes him down deeper. He’s in waist deep before she thinks to shed her clothes and join him.

 

No one will be down here for hours more...they’ll be alone and undisturbed.

 

Slit arches an eyeless brow as she undoes the knot at her ribs. She realizes they’ve never been completely bare with each other, and she’s never exposed her breasts - not that she’s had much thought for them since she’s never carried a pup in her before. But the idea of him seeing them makes her giddy and nervous…

 

“You need help?” he asks, grinning.

 

The heat is making his cheeks a ruddy color that puts a knot in her stomach, even as the knot in her shirt unravels and she tugs the material over her head, watching him looking at her there. He’s unreadable, but that’s alright. She removes the rest and slips into the water beside him, taking him by the elbow to drag him to the middle so they can sink in deeper.

 

He looked drain; low on blood and she’d be worried if it wasn’t for the healthy glow on his face - the content and blissful smile on his lips.

 

“Died and gone to Valhalla...no wonder Nux doesn’t bite when I call him a mediocre shit anymore.”

 

Toast grins, cupping some water in her palms to douse over his neck and shoulders. He hisses as the hot water washes along the cuts and bruises, but she kisses his chin lightly, and he practically purrs in contentment. 

 

“I guess it’s sorta hard to be upset when he gets to bathe with Capable all the time,” she adds.

 

Slit snorts, slides his hands around her waist under the water and pushes his sweaty forehead to her own - it feels different and beautiful, “Don’t matter cause I get to do it with Toast the Krazy…” he tells her, staring into her eyes and it shouldn’t make her eyes sting but it does and…

 

He tells her, throaty and raw, “You’re the most chrome - shiniest thing to happen to me...better than lancing, better than war…”

 

Toast rubs away some of the paint from his neck, sniffles like a pup when silly tears flood her eyes and finds his eye with her own, “Slit…” she says, pressing her fingers to his busted lower lip and admits with a daring smile, “I love you...”

 

 


	9. Part Nine (The Blood Moon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you and shout out to xenowhore, babesabbath, CreepingBoNE, hyaenahyaena, juliettdelta, twiggzzler, Daydreamisallihave, redcandle17, chromeshaft, CorditeQuill, Trippy Hippie, NickieSays, Zoadgo, RubyQuinn, Liisiko, kiss_from_arose, Hay-96, Neko, Jo, Duarte89 and Arya. You all make writing this even more enjoyable than it already is!
> 
>  
> 
> If you have time please leave me your thoughts down below. Enjoy part nine!

Toast holds her breath, watching for the change in his eye - for him to blink or for his brows to go up in a panic. She's waiting for anything really, but his expression never changes, even when he leans in to brush his nose up beneath her jaw. It was...it was as though he didn’t understand - or did he?

 

“Slit…” she mumbles, leaning back, tilting her chin up - her brows bunched.

 

There was nothing new on his face, just the same content, heavy-lid appearance as before. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. She’d given up enough pride to tell him those three words  - she couldn’t possibly have enough left to explain to him the significance of them. _If he didn’t understand then..._

 

“...hmm?” was her response; just a mild fluctuation in his throat as his hands skim around her hips, teasing her skin with his dull nails under the warm water. The feeling was simple but amazing - that, however, wasn’t the point.

 

“I said…” she swallowed, mustering that last bit of ardor, “I love you…” 

 

Already the words tasted queer or as Slit would say _mediocre_. His eyeless brow lifted, but his mouth remained impassive, only his hands really expressed anything different - moving from her hips to the center of her back, petting. Toast wasn’t sure what to say anymore, just that she felt oddly bare. It was as if she wasn’t naked in the pool with him because surely she couldn’t be any more exposed than she was now.

 

Perhaps this was too soon, but no - Capable loved Nux that night in the War Rig, she told Toast that. Love didn’t have a timer; didn’t have to have a countdown. It had no rules, which was why it was so dreadful.

 

Slit reaches up to cup her shoulder, pressing his fingers into the muscle in a way that makes her exhale pleasantly, “That mean you think I'm real chrome too?”

 

 _Maybe,_ she wants to say, but he drags her in close so her cheek can press to the center of his chest where she feels and hears his heart thumping reliable and fast. His fingers work in tandem on her back and shoulders, massaging muscles that only now feel raw and in need, “...yes,” she whispers, “it means you’re chrome and y-you shine so bright you make me shine too…”

 

 _By the moon,_ she needs a hole to appear and suck her under, lest she make an even bigger sap out of herself.

 

Under her ear, she hears his heart going wild, palpitating into her temple. The fact that his heart races because of her - because she can tell him these things brings her more joy and happiness than she can ever remember feeling. That’s why she loves him - it’s why Capable loves Nux.

 

Slit makes her happy…

 

“Must have done something proper then. All that mouth stuff works,” he intones, pushing pleasure into her muscles.

 

Toast tosses her eyes to the side as she feels his chin rest on the top of her head. His pleased exhale warms down through her hair, over her scalp. It adds to the wet heat of the pool and the living heat of his body. 

 

He snorts, something amusing but also surprising, “It's hard to imagine. Shiny thing like you thinking I'm chrome. Do you want to do the Warboy thing now? You don't need to talk me up for that you know.” 

 

Toast feels his stiffness against her stomach for the first time since they submerged, but for all Toast knows he’s been like this for awhile and only now has she realized it. For once she doesn’t want it, and not because she doesn’t need it - it’s just that she doesn’t need it right now.

 

“Later...what you’re doing now feels really good…” she sighs as his thumbs push into the plains of her shoulders, pressing down, almost under her arms and back again. 

 

“Bet I can do it better than your sisters can,” he gloats.

 

“...mmm,” is all she can manage.

 

He doesn’t need to know this is isn’t something her sisters do for her. If there's one thing she's learned it's that Slit is driven by competition. It shows as he turns her slowly in his arms - as he brings her in so she’s sitting between his spread thighs on the small bench in the pool. His cock is thick against her lower back, but he doesn’t shove it against her as she might expect, just wets his hands with the water and finds places in her that she didn’t know needed relieving.

 

 _Floating,_ that’s what it feels like. Somehow she's carried a stiffness in her body, deep down and hidden, and only he knows how to rid her of it. 

 

Toast sighs and moans, makes noises she’s only ever made when his mouth is lapping at her down below. Something releases in her spine and she yields, drooling enough that she has to wipe her chin just as his mouth presses to the side of her neck; teeth joining his tongue. She can’t help but whimper.

 

“Can I touch your milk things?”

 

Toast laughs. Can’t help but shake and snort, holding her chest as her body jolts against Slit’s, who she can tell without having to look is sneering at her. He doesn’t know any better, but that doesn’t make it any less amusing, and she only stops when he shoves at her shoulder gingerly, fussing loudly.

 

“Sorry - it’s just…” she inhales and exhales, looking at his bitter, turned-away expression from over her shoulder, “they’re breasts. Not _milk things_. Who in the bleeding hell told you that?”

 

Slit shrugs, lays his red eye on her petulantly, “Nux said they’re where mother's milk comes from. _Milk things_...made sense.”

 

“Yea, they do that...but, it's only if you’re carrying a pup like Capable and Dag.” Toast tells him this and can't help imagining his hands on her full stomach, suckling at her breasts, groaning as he drinks from her...maybe a thin trail of milk escaping his hungry lips...slipping down and pooling...

 

His brow arches and she blinks away the vivid image. _Please let it not be obvious what she was thinking,_ she prays. It would be a hole she'd never crawl out of.

 

Slit tongues the corner of his mouth, smirking, “Nux said he’s gonna get to drink from the source - that means he’s going to be putting his mouth here?” His thumb brushes her dark nipples, where they're just above the water line. The touch isn’t supposed to feel so good; she thinks, but it does, and she shifts between his thighs - the ache settling in deeply.

 

“You can too...I don’t have any milk, though,” she murmurs, turning back to stare at the pile of their clothes. Her dirty shirt is nearly touching the surface of the water and for some reason her fingers itch to shove it back up on the floor.

 

“Then why would I put it there?” he’s just asking, so why does she feel offended?

 

“Because, it feels good - or it's supposed to…” she tells him. He makes a noise of skepticism, so she grasps his wrist from under the water. 

 

“Here,” she says, bringing his dripping hand to her breast, watching with her lower lip between her teeth as he immediately rubs her nipple again. The flesh is puckered up and hard, not that it's not usually like that, but it almost itches when his fingers aren't stroking it now after he touched it the first time. It's never been a place she wanted to be touched...but it is now. _Maybe it's the same for him?_

 

Toast turns at her waist and pinches his nipple playfully, grinning at him when he howls and subsequently glares. She expects it when he pinches back, but she doesn’t expect it to make the tender nub between her legs jolt like the two are connected somehow.

 

“Do that again,” she urges, and he does, reaching around to cup the weight of her other breast with his free hand.

 

“No wonder you wear those shirts...they’re so bleedin’ soft,” he marvels, pinching and pulling, massaging and bouncing, "...how’s it feel?" 

 

Toast closes her eyes and arches her back, pressing her breasts further into his hands. "It's good," she admits, quietly sighing as he tests out this part of her that’s so different from him. He’s even starting to talk like her too; she smirks. _Bleedin’._

 

It’s a little ridiculous she realizes - the way he jiggles her flesh, groaning with approval before pushing the weight up and then letting it bounce down. Everything tingles with pleasure, though, and before she realizes it, her fingers slide between her thighs and the pleasure blooms like one of Dag's flowers.

 

Slit jerks suddenly, jostling her fingers. 

 

"Hey!" she hisses, struggling weakly as his hands grip around her arms, and she's pulled around to face him. Toast has enough sight left through the haze of denied pleasure and steam to feel him slide her up and himself down, pushing his face in front of her chest. In a seconds time, his hot mouth is latched around her nipple, sucking it hard inside his mouth. 

 

"Too hard," she whimpers, but grasps the back of his head regardless, keeping him right there, right where she wants him. The pressure lessens when she grunts again, but Slit adds his teeth, and it's both painful and gratifying, but the noise she makes could never be construed as anything but bliss.

 

Slit beats her hand on its way down her stomach and then he’s sliding his finger inside her, thumbing that nub and suckling...bringing it all to an acute, burning end that throws her back. Her fingers dent around his head, thumbs stroking the ruin of his split mouth, gasping and rolling her hips, desperate and writhing. Toast finishes so quickly it’s almost upsetting until his teeth, hard around her nipple, extends the feeling far past it usually goes with soft little nibbles.

 

Slit's finger curls and she feels herself tighten, clench and milk as if it's something else inside her, 

 

"Hells..." she manages to curse.

 

When her eyes open finally - _when had she closed them?_ \- she's greeted with a smug smiling Lizard King, and his lips pressed just under a sore looking nipple. He gives the tender bud a lick, staring up at her. Then with a broad grin, gives the underside of her breast a soft bite. 

 

“I want this," he growls, pushing a second finger inside her, making her lips part in a silent groan and curls them back, eliciting a strange pressure inside her stomach, "...want you around my cock."

 

He thrusts his fingers deep, strokes something inside again and admits between her breasts, "Can’t stop thinking about you sucking on it like you’re suckin’ on my fingers,” - and she is. Her body is clenching and sucking and trying to pull him deeper, but that's the effects of the release and it's already fading, and though his fingers feel good, it's also raw and somehow uncomfortable too...like poking a bruise.

 

Toast sighs, “N-not now…I don't want to yet.”

 

Slit frowns and soon after he pulls his fingers free, allowing a brief stream of hot water to ease out of her. It makes her wince - _the disadvantages of doing such things under water,_ she realizes. But she's less concerned about that than she is his frustration - it doesn’t last for very long. Before she knows it, he’s back to grinning, giving her nipple a farewell lick before holding her around the middle, pulling her down against his chest.

 

“Don’t need it I guess,” he mutters, petting the back of her head and rubbing along her spine. Toast wouldn't have listened if someone told her a man could accept something like that so readily, but she's never had a good grasp on what men as a whole were, just one man...and Slit's nothing like _him._

 

Toast thinks she could fall asleep like this, but she remembers watching Capable resting with Nux on the blankets in the grass and green and recalls the moon and wonders…

 

“Would you want to look at the blood moon instead?,” she lifts up to stare at his curious face and the one wet, shining eye, “It only happens once every few years...everyone is there. Might be just as good as the other thing,” she smirks.

 

"Doubt it," he mutters but mimics the twist of her lips and, in an act of rebellion the likes of which she'd have never expected, he flicks a splatter of water into her face.

 

 _This is war_ ; she thinks, and palms a wave of the hot water into him, watching it rise and cover his mouth and nose, making his sputter and snort. Slit gapes at her, eye blinking away the moisture and then she's pulling in air as fast as she can because he's dragging her under. Toast gasps, breaches the water and finding him still underneath shaking his head around and rubbing at his face. It's amusing but weird, and when he finally burst out into the air again, it's only a little less surprising when he pulls her back down with him again.

 

He's just a big blur under the water when she opens her eyes, but somehow he finds her lips with his, and - it's not ideal, but she kisses him, and it's still exhilarating. The innocence doesn't last; he wraps her up in his arms and pulls up for air, throwing her back against his chest.

 

Whatever water fever grabs Nux has taken hold of Slit as he sweeps her around, half below the water and half above, making waves of water that fan out and lap at the edge of the pool. He's gasping but it's more like laughter than anything else, and Toast resists it - she tries, and she's not sure why but _bloody hell_ she tries and fails, giggling anyway. 

 

This water sport lasts long enough that when he goes still in the middle of the pool, swallowing thick breaths and panting against her neck, she worries. Fresh blood is streaming down the cut on his cheek and an abrasion on his shoulder weeps with diluted red sap.

 

"Look what you've done," she fuses, pressing around the swollen wound on his face with a scowl. Slit barely winces, still all grins and exposed teeth - that one bright red eye wide and glassy.

 

"Come on," she tells him, kicking out of his embrace, "let's go play lovebirds like Nux and Capable...I'm getting wrinkled anyways."

 

He must think this is a bigger deal than she thinks it is because a look crosses his face like the one he made when she wrapped her shawl around his neck.

 

“Yes,” he blurts, settling on an awestruck expression that makes her sidestep within the water.

 

Before she lets him crawl out of the pool, she makes sure all the wounds he sustained for whatever insane, bloody reason are clean and the war paint, for the most part, is gone. It leaves him looking less like she’s used to, but oddly appealing. The way he relaxes under her washing sets her heart racing. It’s like she’s peeling him raw; exposing what he truly is. _But that’s silly,_ she thinks.

 

He pulls on his bloody pants, which makes her grimace. _Just like a Warboy to put on filthy clothes after such a treat like a bath..._

 

The only thing he bothers cleaning is that crude bandage he’d had on his hand. Toast watches him sitting on the edge of the pool as she pulls herself from it. It is, in fact, the scarf she gave him.

 

Toast watches him swirl it in the pool, washing the blood and dirt away, leaving a cloud of darkness behind that her sisters might gripe at her for later. But Toast stares as the air dries her skin - watches him wring out the scarf and wrap it around his neck, still brown with blood stains, before tying it in a loose knot at his throat. Toast bites her lip, watching him fuss over the way the folds of fabric lay before he seems pleased with it enough to leave it be.

 

 _He cherishes it,_ she sees.

 

Toast hides her smile, dresses in a free cut of fabric - clean and flowing. It’s something The Dag would wear, but it feels good on her water-softened-skin, and she enjoys the hungry look on Slit’s face when he watches her smooth it down her chest and hips.

 

“Come on,” she smiles, pulling at his wrist, careful of his busted knuckles, before he can do something to change her mind about the moon.

 

Up high on the roof of the Citadel there is a gathering of Warboys not there before. The trees are filled with them, some gnawing on apples from the branches, some watching on in silence and others arguing about whatever Warboys argue over. One of them is hanging upside down from a branch, swinging a smaller Warpup by the arms to its utter, boisterous glee. There are more here than Toast had thought. It feels like the whole Citadel is up here. There's even a mixing of Warboys and Milk Mothers near the cliff edge. Some of the younger ones are speaking, and one is without a doubt laughing with an older Warboy, holding a large stomach that's near as far along as Dags.

 

Toast shifts beside Slit, banging her hip into his thigh as some of the Warboys in the trees look over at them, grinning as if they know something. She has a problem telling them apart, but she knows they are some of the Warboys that witnessed her and Slit grinding against each other almost two weeks ago...or maybe they saw her beating on that fork-tongued one only to be whisked away by Slit and eaten up like a juicy fruit.

 

“Jasper,” Slit grumbles beside her, wrapping a hand around her hip to pull her in close - it’s possessive, but Toast doesn’t mind. The feeling she gets from his clutch is quite the opposite of the loathing she should feel in fact. “Fuckin’ smeg thought you’d shredd me...can’t talk his smeg-shit talk with a sliced tongue now, can he...”

 

Toast looks on, sees one of them glaring at her from the base of a smaller tree. His mouth looks swollen but aside from that and the deep frown he seems unharmed, and then he sticks his tongue out and Toast lurches a step back. It's a mess of black flesh and stitches - and it's a foul thing.

 

“How’d he-”

 

“Bit his tongue near in two,” Slit tells her, looking more than pleased with himself.

 

Toast doesn’t want to know how he got Jasper’s tongue between his teeth, but she’s seen Slit do things with his mouth that continue to amaze her. Even if he told her the truth of it, dare she ask, she might not believe him anyway - or want to for that matter.

 

_“Slit! Slit!”_

 

Slit groans as Nux shrieks, hands waving in the air with Capable wrapped around his shoulders, looking nonplused by the erratic Warboy she's attached to. _It’s like a gathering...a party._ Toast would have avoided the whole thing if she'd known it would be like this.

 

The greens are filled with bodies and across the way she sees The Dag with her eyes closed as Coma strums one of Capables old wooden guitars to a group of Warpups. Cheedo, who is eyeing Toast with something that’s not happiness, but not distaste either, has an even larger gang of Warpups surrounding her, some almost too old to be called pups... 

 

All of this is strange, she realizes, but it’s not so hard to ignore when she wraps her fingers around a strap on Slit’s pants, pulling him over to Capable and Nux with careful steps, avoiding lounging Warboys and planted green things. 

 

The moon is full - the curved edge of it looks bloody, but it’s not red like The Dag said it’d be. It’s still the same old moon, just brighter and fuller than usual.

 

 _“What were you doing I wonder,”_ Capable says, cheeks appled in bliss as Slit goes to his Driver, shoving him in the shoulder in greeting. “He’s without his paint…” she adds, arching a brow.

 

“Yeah well...Nux gets to bathe in the pool. Figured the bastard could have one too,” Toast utters, sinking into the fresh grass. Her sister just smiles and strokes Toasts damp hair knowingly until she presses her fingers away with a groan. If she wasn't motherly before she is now with the pup growing inside her. _It'll only get worse,_ Toast reminds herself. Soon Capable will be dealing out words of advice without anyone asking for it, but it'll be worse than The Dag, cause she'll be nice about it.

 

“I’m glad you came back. Nux hasn’t stopped poking my stomach since you left.”

 

Toast snorts and leans in to poke her sister's side with a grin, “I can fill that spot if you miss it so much.”

 

Capable smiles, swatting Toast's hand away. "Did you talk to her yet?" Capable asks, eyeing Dag across the sea of grass and dirt, "She's been asking for you."

 

"No... _that one's_ always with her..." Toast mutters, glaring perhaps since the next words out of her sister's mouth are motherly warnings.

 

"Let her tell you she doesn't want someone, and do the opposite. It doesn't do her or you any harm."

 

Toast just frowns, watching the blind musician grin with misshapen teeth, playing something she can't hear well enough from so far away, but that The Dag clearly understands and enjoys.

 

"I don't like him," Toast says, but it's a childish dislike and one she doesn't really feel all that much anymore. Capable sees right through it, not offering anything more when it's not necessary.

 

They sit there, as the Warboys start bickering - Slit growling and Nux bowing up, calling his Lancer _roadkill_. Capable knows the drill better than Toast it seems. Her soft hands on Nux’s back brings her Warboy back around, heaving up but smiling and soon Toast is watching with a bewildered expression as Nux lays his head in Capables lap. It’s weird, but it’s even odder when Slit appears by her side, eye on her seriously before he puts his head on her lap as well, mimicking Nux.

 

_Bloody hell..._

 

Toast rolls her eyes, refusing to acknowledge him as he nuzzles against her, but that doesn’t last.

 

He noses her clothed stomach, breathes out a hot wash of breath and makes one of those lizard noises before she admits defeat and scratches her nails along the back of his scalp. She hopes beyond hope that The Dag doesn’t see this - her and Capable with blissful Warboys nestled in their laps. But that’s too much to hope for it would seem. 

 

Toast sneaks a peak at her ghostly sister and finds her watching in amusement through a white curtain of hair. It’s embarrassing, Toast thinks, but it’s hard to muster the want to shove Slit off her. He feels good where he’s at, and the idea of wounding his pride in front of all his Warboy brothers doesn’t sit well with her either. _No,_ Toast sighs, he's staying where he is. 

 

“I’ll get you back for this later,” she whispers, pulling on the shell of his ear. His response is to grab at her hip and push his face into her stomach, inhaling her with a lopsided smile that wrinkles the skin around his stapled mouth. _Too happy,_ she thinks. _Too content. Too chuffed._

 

Up in the sky, the moon is half red, and it makes Toasts lips part. _It’s beautiful…_

 

“Slit,” she shakes his shoulder. He grumbles, hiding his face against her like a simpering pup. Toast grumbles and shakes him again,” Look, you smeg...it’s started.”

 

He turns in her lap begrudgingly, cursing before he sees what she sees too and goes tranquil. They watch the moon flood with blood - the hum of voices dying as the orb grows fat with crimson. Toast doesn’t have any words for the vision in the sky, but Slit does, and it makes her chuckle despite herself.

 

“Looks like a blood blister…”

 

Nux makes an agreeing noise, muffled in Capable's lap. Toast pulls at Slit’s ear again, but he mouths her calf; legs crossed underneath him.

 

He kisses the expanse of flesh as she watches the moon leak, slowly turning opaque again. The surrounding stars barely blink bright enough to show against its glow. The Dag told her it would flood the dirt with nutrient and bless Capable's womb just as it would hers. 

 

Toast looks over at The Dag as the moon becomes more cream that red, shedding its blood as they do. Her sister is standing with the blind Warboy, leading him off into the thick wall of green where they both vanish. Toast wonders if she’ll lay with him...if her sister will do it because she wants to and not because of some strange ritual for the moon. There’s no point in fertility when she’s so close to squeezing the sprog out of her anyway. Or maybe it’s not what she thinks…maybe it's something wholly innocent. Toast doubts it, though.

 

Slit pulls himself out of her lap, staring over at Nux while Capable plants sweet little kisses on his cheeks. No doubt Slit will want something similar, and when he looks over at her, almost pleadingly, she has to bite her tongue not to laugh at him. 

 

Toast doesn’t kiss him, just pulls him up and takes him away from the green, the moon, and the mess that Nux and Capable are about to make. She leaves it all like she did before, but it’s different and when she brings Slit back into the Vault, up to her room - she kisses him again, and again. 

 

“You can stay here with me tonight, if you want,” she tells him, opening her mouth along the side of his neck where his pulse jumps. It means more to her than she can put into words, so she doesn’t say anything else when he nods and follows her into bed, as naked as she makes herself. 

 

The presence of him is enough to banish any fears the darkness brings and the arm he drapes around her, hesitant at first and then heavy with relaxed confidence, relaxes her into a sleep so good she thinks about never waking up and not being frightened by that possibility.

 

Slit is here with her, and something about that knowledge vibrates bliss inside her chest. Something that she’s never felt before, and it’d be silly to say it didn’t have everything to do with this strange Lizard King at her back.

 


	10. Part Ten (The Birth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you and shout out to AussiesAreAggro, redcandle17, Duarte89, chromeshaft, Jaetion, lynewt, Daydreamisallihave, Zoadgo, twiggzzler, NickieSays, RubyQuinn, Liisiko, Trippy+Hippie, Arya, Mary, xenowhore, Jo, kiss_from_arose, ida_pea and juliettdelta. You all make writing this even more enjoyable than it already is!
> 
> Here's a little Toast and Slit kissing http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/post/131459656958/smoochy-toast-and-slit-are-here-to-tell-you

It took just three days and two nights - and on the third night Toast is shaken from her sleep, splayed out over Slit’s thick chest and half-dead to the whole woeful world around her, by her sweet, naive sister, Cheedo.

 

_“Toast - hurry! It’s happening, she's already bleeding. Quickly! Wake up!”_

 

“Go 'way,” she grunts, unable to sufficiently understand anything but the warm musk of the living bed she claimed. Even as Slit awakens and shakes her shoulder while Cheedo tugs hard at her ankle, she refuses to budge. It takes a bright, obnoxious slap on her ass by a cocky, grinning Warboy, hidden in the dark - to snap her awake and when she is coherent it’s hard to feel anything but groggy annoyance. 

 

Of course, once the realization sinks in Cheedo immediately starts to pull her, still naked out of her room.

 

"Naked - still naked! Give me a second," she gripes, prying off Cheedo's iron-gripped fingers; nails digging and blood gone cold. The world can wait for her to throw something on. 

 

But that's not true and thinking it could be was mad. Dag screams above, flooding through glass and stone and earth. It’s a long, guttural cry that twists Toast insides with sympathetic pain.

 

_There’s no way in hell Cheedo is getting her up those stairs._

 

She dresses in seconds, though, and Slit is right behind her, following at her heels. Toast still feels tired, _or is it just adrenaline that’s making her feel weightless? Is it the weird, otherworldly fear and excitement that’s making the Vault pass by in blurred shapes and nonsense._ Even the long strides it takes to make it to the High Gardens seems more like a dream and less like reality. Like a nightmare.

 

Of course, Dag would insist on having her baby among the green things. 

 

Dag had mentioned it in passing. At times during the early nights of her pregnancy, she admitted that she hoped the magic of the herbs, dirt and grass would keep the disease off Joe’s seed. Toast didn’t have much hope - was surprised Dag hadn’t lost the child yet in all honesty. But there her sister was, in a blanket of culled branches and blankets, surrounded by the remaining Vuvalini. The blood between her thighs is as bright a vivid as the stars...

 

Toast doesn’t know what good she can be standing just past the tree line as she is, useless and afraid. The blood is black but stark in the twilight, and the moon makes the copious amounts of sweat shine like metal shavings on The Dags naked skin. Each little trickle that slides down her forehead is cast in perfect detail, and it’s sickening.

 

Capable looks no better. None of them have seen the consequences of pregnancy. This is the first time for any of them and even though the Vuvalini has seen and birthed enough babies for the lot of them, everyone seems sick with fear.

 

Woman died all the time like this. Who's to say it wouldn't happen now or if not now then many days from now when Capable replaces The Dag in her bed of blood - or to herself...if she allowed such a thing to happen.

 

In the growing alarm, she forgets that Slit is just behind her until she takes a step back. She could just run and not look back, but his solid, bare chest strikes her own, and she shivers, despising him. If it weren't for him being the closed door, she could be halfway down to the Vault by down - half way down to her bed, under her blankets where she could pretend that this part of life didn't exist.

 

“Bloody hell…” she whispers, and it must sound horrified because Slit’s warm, scratchy palm lays over her shoulder, trying to be of comfort. It isn’t, though she can't find it in her to shove him off. Toast imagines the sprog he’d put inside her; seeded by a man that’s as tall as Nux and even more brawny, combined with her - and she’s so much smaller than him. _As small as a Warpup,_ Slit said himself once or twice. _What kind of thing would she end up splitting herself open for?_

 

Dag screams again and Toast jerks, ready to run but Slit’s fingers dent into her shoulder, keeping her in place. His hot breath touches the top of her head and his other hand reaches around to lay on her stomach when he urges, “Witness her.”

 

Slit’s right. Toast knows this, but when Dag looks over at her, tears flooding in her eyes and her bone-thin fingers tearing at the blankets, Toast looks away. It’s hard to witness her. It’s so hard not to beat away Slit’s hands, now holding her in place, and push her way through the trees, to run away.

 

The Dag says something between her teeth, muffled with pain and fear and the coming contractions that make her body stiffen and her open knees shake. Toast can hear it from where she’s standing, pressed as far into Slit’s chest as she can be without moving through him.

 

In the next moment, a tune picks up over the whimpers and the birthing noises that shouldn’t be. The blind Warboy is sitting just near her sister. _How had she not seen him before?_ \- and he’s playing his guitar with violence that matches the look of Dag’s face. It’s as though he changes his timbre to the sounds of her pain - the soundtrack to life. In all, it’s horror and red, sticky mess.

 

It takes hours, or what seems like hours - and Dag screams are so loud and Coma’s guitar is striking her ears so fast that for a moment Toast feels like she could go under. Without Slit at her back she would crumble at the noise, but the crescendo only lasts so long, and suddenly the silence becomes even louder.

 

It’s dead quiet.

 

No wailing. There’s supposed to be wailing isn’t there. 

 

Toast makes to move forward as if she could do anything - at this, again, she’s useless. Only good enough to witness and pretend as though she could concentrate on her sister's pain and take some of it for herself somehow. It doesn’t work like that, though, and there are no sounds as the Vuvalini hover between the Dags legs. Her sister’s eyes are closed, and her unprotected, sweaty flesh looks even paler and lifeless, but there’s a red, small smile on her lips to as though she’s happy for some reason.

 

There’s the sound of smacking flesh and then a gaggle of wet noises - the next noise is a cry...a baby's cry.

 

 _“A girl,”_ Maddie says, beaming brightly with Abigail by her side, teeth flashing.

 

Dag appears so weak she doesn’t even move her head to look up, just opens her eyes. Her smile widens...but that’s it and Toast feels the sting of tears and can't manage to hold them in. They spill down her cheeks, dribble off her chin and wet the thin cloth on her chest.

 

The red, sticky thing in Maddie’s hands is a baby, oddly enough, and she raises it in the air; tiny limbs kicking and shaking.

 

 _Cold,_ Toast thinks. _The little girl is cold._

 

She would be to if she were pushed out of a warm body into the breezy night air. And she’s ugly, at least from where Toast is standing, but she has two arms and two legs and when Maddie rests the girl over The Dags bare chest, counting the toes and fingers and exclaims, _“Whole!”_ Toast doesn’t know whether to praise Dag for such a feat or spit on the ground to damn the last of Joe’s legacy having anything adequate to name.

 

It doesn’t make sense.

 

“You’re drenchin’,” Slit tells her, intense and ragged. Yes, she pouring sweat from the deflated fear and perhaps some of her tears have fallen on the hand he has around her stomach.

 

Carefully, she curls into him as best she can, without looking weak among her sisters, the old ones and the blind Warboy. Her eyes scan around, and she sees Nux looking green, some of his fingers wrapped around Capable's hair at the nape of her neck. Despite what they all have witnessed and what will no doubt happen to Capable, as long as Nux’s seed takes and doesn’t bleed out of her, her copper-haired sister looks awestruck. There’s none of the fear that Toast feels on her face…

 

Maybe being infected with a sprog does that to you - makes your brain see all the blood and tearing and think its nothing. 

 

Dag is gasping still - the wet, slimy thing hiccupping between her breasts before it turns and latches and begins feeding. Coma is still playing his music.

 

When the Abigail bends down between The Dags legs again, this time with a needle and string, glimmering in the moonlight like a spider's web, Toast turns around and presses her nose to Slit’s chest, unable to witness anymore. No one would dare force her to watch this part. Her sister whimpers behind her and Toast wraps her arms around Slit’s hips, feeling hot...bare skin…? Her touch reaches down, unimpeded by coarse canvas…

 

“Bollocks...you're naked,” she deadpans, pulls back and looks down, and sure enough his flaccid cock is hanging between his legs; bare legs, and feet.

 

 _Bleeding hell,_ he didn’t even bother putting his pants on when they left. _How has nobody said anything?_

 

But no one seems to care. No one pays him any mind with Dag lying under the moon, petting her baby girl within the broken branches and blankets. No, of course, they wouldn’t mind. It still makes her roll her eyes to the side, halfway to laughing and crying all at once.

 

Slit just arches that eyeless brow of his, covered in old black paint and smudged where her pillow rubbed at him in his sleep. He won’t humor her, Toast knows this and carefully she holds his strong back muscles, pushing her cheek against his hot skin again. “I can’t look...just- just tell me when they’re done with the needle. Please.”

 

It makes her look weak. And she accepts that, but she can’t muster the stomach to watch them sewn up whatever has torn in The Dag with the birth of her baby.

 

Slit is silent, but his hands appear around her back - a strong blanket hiding her from the world. The image of her own imaginary labor flashes in strokes behind her closed eyes - of scoffing while Slit tries to goad their baby into kicking inside her womb, assuring her it’ll be a Lancer even better than him. Toast envisions him demanding mother’s milk straight from the source, just like Nux. Mainly, Toast just pictures herself lying in a pool of blood, though, enjoying her last minutes of life in utter agony and regret.

 

It’s terrible...for her to be so selfish in this while her sister makes subdued notes as they put her back together.

 

“Looks like it's done. Ain’t so bad...she’s shining like chrome…” of course he doesn’t sound horrified. Toast imagines Nux would agree, and maybe even Capable in her weird state of mindless pregnancy.

 

It’s over, though.

 

Dag is sitting up when Toast turns around, and Capable and Cheedo are already settling down next to her, kneeling and smiling and stroking back her sweaty blonde hair. Slit doesn’t hold on when she pulls away from him. Dimly, she hopes he’ll go and find some clothes, but most of her attention has shifted to her sister. Now she feels like she did when they were looking at the blood moon a few nights ago. The baby is bloody like it too, but no less beautiful.

 

“You did so beautifully,” Capable coos, kissing the sweat drying on The Dags brow. 

 

Toast can only sink to her knees in the damp, grassy earth. 

 

A hot swath forms on her back and she knows it's Slit’s eye on her, watching and witnessing, and she curls her fingers in the hem of the blanket. Her glowing sister stinks of sweat and blood and something else but the little, ugly baby- No, beautiful baby, suckles loudly, and Toast can’t help but smile at the sight of it.

 

Cheedo catches her eyes and grins proudly, washing away the sweat from Dag with a wet, pristine cloth.

 

It’s infectious - the smiles. 

 

Even Coma gets a smile from her, even though he can’t see it. Toast finds that she joins the fray of touches, whispering sweet words to The Dag, who only blinks, exhausted and smiles. The last of her strength seems to have gone to the bundle of new life on her chest. Her fingers cling to the fresh flesh. Even another world-ending wouldn’t pry them apart…

 

It’s how it should be. Joe has no place here even if they all feared he would. This baby is Dag’s...and by the looks of what happens next it seems the blind Warboy has a claim to it as well. Two small pups take the guitar from The Doof Warrior, and Toast watches jealously as Dag hands, with the help of Cheedo’s steady grip, the little girl into Coma’s arms. 

 

Toast stifles a laugh, despite being resentful.

 

They had all tried to get the truth from Dag the morning after the blood moon - pestered her all through the day for what she did with the man beyond the trees. But it’s obvious now that something happened...and it was profound enough for him to be the first after Dag to hold the baby. 

 

Toast doesn’t expect to be the first, or the second - since that privilege should go to Capable, who will be getting full soon. But she’s the last of her sisters and for a second she feels inadequate because of that, but when the dry, flaky thing is laid in her arms, she forgets to be bitter. And Toast tries, she really does - she tries to hold her eyes on the wiggling thing as long as she can, but somehow she forgets to keep her eyes focused, and eventually they drift over to Slit, where he’s still naked and looking absurd with his cock out and eye full on her. His lips thin, and his expression drops down into one of complete and utter devotion when he sees her, that Toast thinks...maybe...she wouldn’t mind having his sprog inside her.

 

_Maybe._

 

After the cleaning and the quiet celebration during the brightening of the rising sun, Toast threads her fingers between Slits, and curls back in his lap, finding it hard to muster the strength to get up and pull them back to bed. But - the days started. There’s no more sleep allotted until tonight.

 

When he drags her back to the Vault, smirking and needling her sides until she has to punch his arm, so she doesn’t laugh out loud in front of everyone, he dresses and leaves her with a little nuzzle. A promise for later.

 

The day without him passes slowly.

 

Dag has been laid up in bed, with her baby who still has no name but _sweet leaf_ and everyone is fussing and clamoring around her even though she looks annoyed by that fact. It's amusing, and Dag catches her eye between the frey and they both roll their eyes and smile.

 

They rotate outside her door, always open, and the Milk Mothers are lined up like stock on her wall, one of them knitting and another milking her breasts for when Sweet Leaf needs more than The Dag can provide. Capable perches on the end of her bed, ankles crossed. When Dag isn’t looking, her newly impregnated sister strokes the little things nose and coos little half-songs.

 

It’s all disgustingly sweet.

 

Toast get’s stuck with the essential-but-mediocre work, moving to and fro the Vault and the Organics - getting ointments and advice from the Vuvalini, who are busy mending sick Warboys and the like. It’s a piss poor job compared to pinching Sweet Leaf's cheeks like Capable, or learning the weird needlecraft like Cheedo’s doing, but every now and then she catches sight of Slit, throwing pups down the line to chuck their lances at targets painted on the stone walls. 

 

She won’t call out to him - won’t break his concentration, but she does linger longer than she should just to enjoy the pleasure of watching him bark orders and curse when one of them doesn't make his mark. It's hard not to grin when he starts beating back rowdy, newly-minted Warboys that mouth off when directed. 

 

Each time she sees him he’s doing something new that makes the muscles ripple along his back and shoulders. Her eyes are helpless to keep off him. 

 

Her fourth trip back down to the Pits...well, really she’s tasked with heading further down where the earth bubbles up, and they do the cleaning. Dag’s messed the sheets, and they need soaking in the natural deposits for a few hours before she’s allowed to use them again. So Toast had some hours to kill, and she decides there’s no better way to burn the time than linger around the Pits and watch her Warboy pass down his knowledge to the young generation of pups that come in during the afternoon.

 

But he’s not there, and she sneers, knowing she’ll have to ask around if she wants to find him.

 

 

_“‘ookin’ fo’ dat S’it?”_

 

Toast jerks in place, looking at a familiarly decorated Warboy. He must see the confusion on her face, or some form of scrutiny because he frowns and pokes his mangled tongue out, just far enough for her to see the black stitches and blood blisters.

 

“Bloody hell…” she lets loose, biting her tongue on instinct when he grumbles thickly.

 

It’s much fouler looking up close, and Toast can only suck her own tongue as she imagines how much it must hurt...how much it did hurt. Slit...he didn’t need to do that. No words or insults to her could have been deserving of that. She hopes…

 

“Figh’in...fah’ng off,” he manages, pointing back to the Organics. 

 

 _Fighting?_ Toast doesn’t know where the fighting pits are, but she nods to this Warboy, forgetting his name and not wanting to ask. She’ll ask another Warboy that can speak precisely. One that doesn’t make her think of Slit as more of an animal than a man right now.

 

It’s just her luck that the only Warboy willing to speak to her has a large, fissured scar across his throat and his voice though understandable is thick and scratchy. It’s as if he inhaled the fumes of a tailpipe for days as a pup...but the scar tells her what really happened.

 

He tells her the general way to find the fighting pits that they call the Arena and nothing more. A pretty bland title in all truth, but Toast smiles and tells him _thank you_ , remembering how the Warboy’s like her sweet and appreciative. The Warboy doesn’t smile, but he still looks pleased with being thanked, before she follows his directions downward. 

 

The sounds of smacking flesh and goading, cheering, and mass energy leads her the rest of the way.

 

As she feared it’s Slit beyond the wall of crisscrossing metal, blood running down the side of his face; fresh and vibrant. His bottom teeth are bared, and he looks primal, animalistic. A lizard that’s possessed and starving. If she ran into him like this, alone and unknowing, she'd think he was some monster. It only helps a little that she knows him for a sweet, attention-seeking softie.

 

_"Mediocre! - mediocre you shit-smeg! Pups can do better than you!"_

 

Slit, despite his taunts, looks beaten and mangled, but when Toast swallows a thick ball of spit in her throat and turns to his opponent, she immediately looks away.

 

They don’t resemble men anymore - not even bloody Warboys. Slit looks pristine compared to the swollen, bloody pulp of the other Warboy - yet he doesn’t seem any less able on his feet than Slit does.

 

Something happens when Toast watches Slit slipping away from a quick blow, curling up with his fists balled up hard and tight, striking with gleeful spittle coating the corner of his lips. It’s similar to the first time she fought him, or when she witnessed him bite that Warboy’s ear in half...even when he shoved her out the way so he could steal her glory.

 

It’s a soft roar that starts in her belly and then bursts into a naked need...and she wants to push past the crowd of Warboys and slug him in the chest herself, throw him down on the stone and rip his buckles open, find his hard cock and impale herself on it. 

 

 _In front of everyone,_ she thinks, smirking and shivering with the pleasure of such a ludicrous idea. She want's to claim him while he's bruising and bleeding and howling for more of her. Skin slippery with sweat and flesh smacking blissfully. She wants it all and then more and always and...

 

The fight ends only seconds later. The nameless wounded Warboy grins and Toast grimaces when she sees that his front teeth are gone. The blood from his mouth is just a fountain rushing from his gums. It’s foul - it’s appalling...so why, when she shifts her thighs together, does it feel like she could rush off the cliff then and there?

 

 _Because of Slit, that’s why._ He’s all panting breaths and blood, adrenaline and strength and Toast wants that underneath her.

 

He’s hers, and she’s his, but right now she wants to strap him to the grated wall, tie his wrists and ankles to it and lick away all the blood until he’s just a helpless mess to do with as she pleases. 

 

It’s a horrifying thought, but she knows, deep down, he’d be more than happy to let her do what she wants with him. Maybe, he would even let her do it in front of his Warboy brothers…but only because it marks him as more important than the others somehow.

 

That too makes her rub her thighs and stifle and groan.

 

Some of the Warboys around her are closer than they were before, eyeing her in ways that they shouldn't so Toast leaves before he can see her; inner thighs soaked and body humming with desire she doesn’t trust herself with. She’ll hold it in until tonight, when he comes to her bed, eager for her touches and warmth, expecting nothing more than what she did with him the night before.

 

But tonight she'll push him back, pin him down and rut him proper.

 

With fresh sheets and Dag asleep, she’s free of the menial work. Capable gets to take Sweet Leaf with her, to bathe and wrap and fuss over some more. 

 

Finally, for what seems like many, many days, she's alone with her sister.

 

"How are you feeling?" is the first thing she asks, though she can tell The Dag will respond with a white lie.

 

"As though I am not held together by string and knots," Dag smirks, shifting back deeper into the blankets and pillows.

 

"I looked away, before," Toast mutters, "and I'm sorry."

 

"You're not carrying one too are you?"

 

Toast shrugs then shakes her head. The question should be easy to answer since she isn't, but does she want to? Does she really wants to carry one or is it just a need to feel whatever Dag and Capable feel?

 

"We are stronger than we think. Our bodies are made for this purpose - it's painful to admit, but we are all perfected by design to make life and give birth...it was...not as hard as I thought it would be."

 

"It looked hard," Toast whispers.

 

"Yes, but not impossible. There are things we can do to make it easier. There," Dag points to a small shelf in the corner, "the blue one." Toast gets up and pilfers the heavy book, settles back down on the bed and reads the cover aloud, " _What To Expect When You're Expecting?_ Really?"

 

"I found it too late maybe, but I think what I managed to try worked."

 

"And what was that?" she asks, smiling and flipping through the molded pages.

 

"A favor, from a friend."

 

Toast insists because she can, and The Dag seems more susceptible to lending her secrets now that they might do everyone some good. But her confession is shocking, even if it shouldn't be.

 

"So you did lay with him?"

 

"Many times...until she started coming," Dag admits, closing her eyes with what could be a smile, but is more likely a smirk. Her sister goes on, "It is good for the coming, when it happens. I should not have torn at all if I had been doing it from the start..."

 

Toast doesn't know what to say in all honesty. It makes sense...to keep the flesh worked and malleable - and The Dag admits she's looking forward to being healed up enough to do so again. The Doof Warrior must have given it his all if her generally snarky sister is looking forward to more...

 

"Aren't you worried you'll get with another one?"

 

"We have herbs like I told you before. I'll just drink them as the women Before did," she states as though it is an obvious solution. Which it must be.

 

When Capable returns with Sweet Leaf, Toast gives Dag a kiss to her cheek and a soft touch to the baby, smiling though she feels like frowning.

 

It’s not Dag, but one of the Milk Mothers, that shows her the herbs she needs to stave off the bed in her womb. She follows the trio if them back to the Mouth of Madness, watching the corners. Her mind keeps warning her that Slit will be waiting in the shadows, heartbroken to find she doesn’t think he's good enough _‘breeding stock’_ to rut with freely. It’s not like that, though…

 

_“Yes, Sister Toast. It will make your garden barren, but it takes time to work.”_

 

Toast just mutters, “The bleeding stopped over a week ago,” embarrassed around the women for some odd reason. There’s no judgment. No scathing looks given, but something about watching the plump women smile and mutter unintelligibly while pouching small sacs of the brown-green makes her itch. 

 

“Good time to start then...good time to begin the cull,” the dark skinned one says - so gentle and soft it almost hurts Toasts ears.

 

 

Mammy, the largest, smiles while tossing the little, tied pouches into a pile, but Toast can’t find it in her to smile back. She’s convince the women are finding some nasty enjoyment out of this, and Toast won’t be a party to it. All she wants is the herb and then she wants to leave, brew the drink in her room and choke it down before Slit shows up, ready as usual to enjoy the privilege of sharing her bed.

 

But then one of them speaks up - the youngest one, but still older than Toast, “The coming would be harder for you - such small hips. Don’t feel wrought over drinking. No pain, no worry.”

 

Toast shifts, and decides it will take awhile for them to finish tying the little sac, all carefully measured out, so she sits beside the youngest.

 

“Are there any side effects? I’ve seen some from other medicine…” Toast asks and offers, pushing away painful memories that no longer have any say in life as it is now.

 

“Some - head pains, back pains, stomach pains...you’re shit might burn-”

 

Toast’s nose wrinkles and the list continues - all relatively mild but many and one of them laughs, seeing the look of horror on her face before adding, “Not common, though, and won’t last long if you get ‘em.” 

 

That’s no small relief, but she still feels nervous as they hand her the wrapped bundle of pouched herbs.

 

“Steep one for thirty and drink tepid, daily. No more drinking it when you’re bleeding starts again. Come to us for more when it ends.”

 

She realizes only when she’s already halfway back to the Vault that she forgot to thank the Milk Mothers. They were kind and helpful, and Toast will have to spare a moment for them tomorrow to thank them, especially if her night with Slit goes as planned.

 

In her room, after locking her door she watches the burner heat the water in her tin cup, waits with crossed arms as the bubbles begin and dunks one tiny pouch inside.

 

She feels wrong. 

 

 _Because he doesn’t know,_ Toast thinks. Because he looked at her like he did while she held Dag’s baby in her arms, and she’s about to drink this, so something like that doesn’t happen with them…

 

It feels dishonest, and Slit’s given her nothing but honesty. But, she reminds herself how big he is compared to her. How much it would hurt even more than The Dag and her bloody screams...

 

When her fingers start to tingle, and her minds begins to ramble, she lays her hands on her hips and measures their width in front of her. She’s small...she’s nothing like Capable, and she’s not much thinner in the hips than Dag, but Dag is tall and…

 

They’re all just excuses.

 

The cup sits on the desk, steaming and brewing, and Toast finds herself just watching it until the steam grows thin and then - then the steam is gone, and there's a kicking at her door that she knows is Slit, but she opens it anyway. Eager and smiling and looking at him with his chin tilted down, smirking and oblivious to the cup now lukewarm on her desk. It’s forgotten for now as she pulls him in.

 

“You’re hurt,” she whispers, tracing along a crusted cut on his scalp, smirking and knowing how it happened but playing coy anyway.

 

Slit flicks his tongue out at her nose, but she's quick and avoids it with a breathy giggle. He doesn’t offer her an explanation, just pets down her hair and breathes in along her neck, grunting out, “You’re so fuckin’ chrome it hurts worse than my skull...fuckin’ soft and tasty. Could eat you right now.”

 

He’s naked with a few turns and tugs. After all the times, she’s undone them, his pants slide over his hips in seconds, and he knows how to take hers off as easy as he can his own. They almost fight for the right to remove her shirt, but it means more to him than it does to her, so she concedes and accepts her loss for the chance to throw him back on her bed where he bounces and hisses willingly.

 

“Where’d you get this?” she fingers a pale, red line from his neck to the end of his nipple. Toast didn’t remember seeing it before. It looks fresh but shallow.

 

Slit shrugs, looking at where she strokes. He reeks of guzzoline and sweat, but Toast loves it though she’d deny it with false sneers and insults if anyone asked.

 

“Something chrome I bet, don’t remember the details,” he tells her nipping at the underside of her breast, eye closed and breath moist on her skin, “You’re as smooth as a tiny pup, though. Not a scratch on you...” he sighs, finally curling his hot tongue around her nipple. 

 

 _She’s not covered in external scars, just the ones on the inside,_ she thinks, moaning.

 

Toast whispers his name as his mouth opens up around her nipple, engulfing it within the heated, wet cavern of his mouth and drawing on it gently. His teeth tease and just this alone makes the nub between her legs throb. She rolls it into his stomach with each draw of his lips and shivers.

 

Slowly her vision comes back into focus.

 

The cup niggles at her, begs her and her knees tense around Slits waist as though she means to get up off him and drink from it, but she doesn’t and when Slit’s mouth descends between her breasts she lets him move her onto her back so he can go lower - her eyes still watching even as measured kisses fall down her stomach and rest up against her vulva. He licks her from bottom to top and Toast shuts her eyes, ignoring that bleedin’ cup and it’s loud urging. 

 

“...taste so good…” he growls before opening his mouth to her.

 

Nothing can exist outside of him and his tongue - not when he manages to both suck and curl the slick appendage at the same time. _How can he even manage that with the scars?_

 

His ruined cheeks wrinkle into a grin when she reaches down to trace the edge of his jaw, urging him deeper - to push inside her. To eat her soul out. Which he does with enthusiasm and happy, wet sounds.

 

He leaves bruises in her thighs when she bucks, trying to escape him when she finally falls off the cliff. It’s too much for a long while before suddenly it floods again, and she tips, howling like an animal - like him into the darkness once more.

 

It’s too much, and yet it’s not enough. _There needs to be more._

 

When she rolls over, fumbling between his thighs, delirious and satiated Slit just chuckles at her, nips her chin with his teeth and lays her back within the soft pillows and warm blankets. _She wants to_ , she wants to argue, but then again...it’s so wonderful to let the sweet throb in her bones pull her into sleep. _Like being drugged, but it’s pure. And so bloody wonderful…_

 

_“I can do it myself.”_

 

Through a pleasant fog, she hears him stroking his own flesh, groaning - the wet, slick sounds and heavy panting breaths, but she must have fallen under before he finished because she wakes up late in the night to the black sight of the cup still resting on her desk.

 

Slit is a warm wall behind her, his heavy arm draped over her side and his palm flat on her chest. 

 

She should drink it before she does anything she’ll regret. Drink it and then climb back into bed and press Slit down into the mattress where she can wake him up with her mouth between his legs and blind intent shining in her eyes. Instead she remains still, blinking in the black while her Warboy breathes slow and easy - his breath rushing down her spin and his forehead pressed into the back of her neck.

 

A ragged, clogged snore breaks the silence and Slit vibrates behind her, releasing her to throw himself on his back, inhaling loud but even - still asleep. He leaves her cold, but she doesn’t immediately roll back into him. Her eyes search out the drink in the blindness, but she doesn’t see it - can’t find it. It’s there though so she grips the edge of her bed and lifts herself, planting her feet on the freezing stone floor.

 

 _It’s the responsible thing to do,_ she reminds herself. Toast doesn’t want to end up like Dag...or Capable. _She doesn’t…_

 

She finds it with her fingers in the dark, and it’s cold, but she strokes the rim and swallows a breath just as Slit shifts in the bed - enough noise that she knows he’s awake. He’s sitting up. He’s looking at her…

 

“Toast?” so rarely does he say her name like that; like a vulnerable whisper - like he’s lost her in the dark, black sands. She’s not lost, though; she thinks, as she picks up the cup and empties it into the base of her green thing.

 

The way he inhales, and immediately exhales like a thankful, greedy thing when she straddles him low, pushing her vulva over his warm, soft cock, fills her with eager desire. Toast leans down to kiss his face, but her lips meet his throat.

 

It's there that she whispers, "Do you want to be inside me?" and that hard bulge in his throat bobs as he swallows, shivering.

 

"Please."

 

_What happens, will happen._


	11. Part Eleven (The Deed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
>  
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for missing my last weekend update. All the stars (obligations) aligned last weekend. But alas, here is more!
> 
> Huge thank you and shout out to twiggzzler, Jo, kiss_from_arose, Liisiko, NickieSays, Trippy Hippie, stracer, redcandle17, ida_pea, chromeshaft, CorditeQuill, NerdyGinger2307, Seconds2Silence and Michi. You all make writing this even more enjoyable than it already is!

Slit looks so nervous it almost makes her laugh - almost.

 

When he swallows, it’s like watching Nux's tight expression when Capable was trying to climb the apple tree that first time. Toast doesn’t know why he’d look the same way, but she leans down and pushes a light kiss on his nose and it’s gone as if she erased it just like that. _So easy and simple_ \- to be able to influence him like this.

 

It’s a powerful feeling, one she hopes she doesn’t take lightly though she can't help nipping at his chin freely.

 

“How badly do you want to be inside me, Slit?” she grins, rubbing his wet nose with her own when he huffs and smirks, blowing hot air on her face. Looking as indignant as he can with a cock as hard as she knows it to be.

 

“More than I wanna snap buzzards and drive,” he confesses, snipping with sharp teeth at her nose with such tender delicacy it tickles. His form of retaliation is mediocre but sweet.

 

She’s blushing now, but the darkness hides it, so she sighs softly and kisses the side of his mouth, “...more than anything?”

 

“Anything worthwhile…” he murmurs, vibrating against her fingers where they skim down the dip in his chest.

 

In the dim black it all feels like a dream; ethereal, and she can’t decide if she likes it that way or not. His scars feel as present as they ever have, though. A light brush of her lips to the pleated branch of red on his right makes him wheeze, coarse fingers stroking the smooth skin of her hips, blunt nails scratching soon after. 

 

Everything feels more organic, _but this isn’t meant to be done in the dark,_ she thinks - knows.

 

Toast kisses the scar, still pocked with stitches by his ear and hums, “Don’t move alright, I’ll be right back.”

 

For a second his hands clench on her hips, refusing to let her go, but she pushes at his chest, and the cool floor meets her feet. It doesn’t take long, even in the dark, and soon the soft orange glow of the lamp flickers alive and she sees him clearly, naked, lounging on her bed, watching her. That one red eye circles in the reflections from the flame. 

 

Toast pauses and stares, outlining the burnt copper tones of his body - plains of muscles dipping and rolling down his chest, falling into the valley between his hip bone and then there’s his cock.

 

_It won’t all fit…_

It’ll be a challenge, but she always liked those.

 

Toast looks back up to his face, finding him grinning from ear to ear, almost exactly - the scars wrinkling the flesh, casting elongated shadows that make him look like a sand monster from her childhood nightmares, but it’s not shocking - it’s refreshing. _Arousing._ That’s the word.

 

Slit arouses the bloody hell out of her, and it’s not so hard to admit after everything that’s happened in what is a short time, but feels like forever.

 

He licks his lips and tells her, overwhelming and dangerous, “You look like you’re shining right now - all bright and soft...better lookin’ even than me.” - and he chuckles, reaching for her, grabbing her thighs and pulling her in. 

 

Toast rolls her eyes to shake off the throbbing in her chest. He’ll admit to nothing but the best, so telling her she’s better than him, even at something as simple as this makes her heart thud all the faster. He has strange ways of showing affection, but he also shows it like this too - with open mouth kisses along her chest, swipes of his tongue and firm bites on her neck and it’s everything Capable told her about what affection should be like. What it was meant to be.

 

“You’re shining too you know,” she moans as he licks a stiff nipple, squeezing her rear and throwing her thigh up over his hips to settle her into his lap. The strong pulse of his cock rests just up along the line of her inner thigh. _Trapped,_ she grins.

 

“Not like you,” Slit admits, starting to thread his fingers through the soft hair between her legs, "nothin' like you."

 

“Here,” she plucks his wrist and pushes it above his head, pinning it to the bed, “keep your hands up here…”

 

Sure, he seems confused and a little annoyed he’s being guided away from touching her as freely as he wants, but she has a plan, and this is how it’s going to be. She has bad memories, but they’re distant and enough time has passed that the idea of sex and all that it comes with doesn’t frighten her like it once did. Still - there’s no shame is making sure nothing is brought back. Having his hands out of the way, just for now, seems the safest bet.

 

All it takes is a soft look into his eye, and he understands, nodding, peeling his other hand off her rear and threading his fingers together, laying them on his head with a shaky exhale.

 

“Anything you say, Toast The Krazy,” and then he grins that face splitting grin again and she almost feels like he’s melting her. The yellow gleam pops in his eye and shines off his bared teeth. 

 

He’ll do what she wants - whatever she needs, and that means more than anything he could give her physically. Just to know that she could direct him with a single word, or stop him with just one look means so much...so much that she has to kiss him when her eyes start to sting. If she’s not careful, she’ll just start crying like a pup rather than do what she wants with him, which will be much more enjoyable than the tears and resulting headache.

 

Slit hisses when she slides back, dragging down along his cock, leaving behind a swath of soft moisture that she immediately rubs in with her fingers.

 

“I saw you down in the Arena,” Toast admits, running her finger over the oozing slit that makes him squirm, “beating the pulp out of that Warboy.” Slit hums, pleased, no doubt recalling the fight and his memorable win. She wishes she’d seen it from start to finish. 

 

“Damn smeg didn’t realize what he was asking for - I got him good didn’t I?” he asks just as she leans down to kiss a swath of burn scars along his ribs. 

 

“Mmhm,” Toast moans, licking at the smooth scars and tasting the bitter tang of warpaint, “You’ll let me know if you’re head starts feeling fuzzy, alright?”

 

The cut on his head isn’t so terrible now that it’s scabbed over and not leaking like before, but the idea of him suffering from a concussion is a worry - and knowing he’ll ignore it unless it begins hindering him is a real possibility. 

 

“Everything feels fuzz ‘sept my thunderstick,” he growls, playful and thick.

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“Never been more serious,” Slit argues, making fists in the pillow at the back of his head, inhaling thickly. His chest expands, and the muscles in his arms tense and his stomach curls when she pulls at his nipple with a mock sneer. His lips split; grinning. And it’s as arousing as it is infuriating.

 

“Please,” Toast mutters, eyeing him as his grin fades into a smile before he nods in understanding, holding his fingers in the pillow all the tighter. 

 

Slit is just one long expanse of muscle, scar, and flesh, _but no,_ Toast reminds herself while flattening her palm over his hip, _he’s more than that._ This means more than just the physicality of sensations - she’s giving herself to him just as much as he’s lending himself to her.

 

“It won’t all fit…” she whispers, teething her lower lip at the tall, thick feel of him jutting up between her legs.

 

“Saw more than this come outta’ your sister. I’ll fit,” he sounds so sure of himself, looking down at his cock as her fingers stroke lightly along a protruding vein; curling around one side of his width. He's smooth and stiff, glistening and healthy compared what she's thought of them before. It seems silly to call it beautiful, but it is...

 

Toast isn’t so sure as he is about the whole...fitting, thing.

 

A baby is one thing, especially when it’s trying to get out and not in and Dag is as tall as Slit despite her being small in the hips. It’s not the same, and suddenly she has an idea. Toast plucks at his wrist, pulls him to her, but he takes that as a sign he can touch her all he wants it seems. His hot, scratchy palms go up to her breasts, lifting them and thumbing the peaks - pleasure swimming equally powerful between her thighs. She leaves one of his hands where it is, but the other she drags down to his cock.

 

“Grab here, yess…” Toast urges his fingers around the base of him, covering his hand in both of hers tightly, “...make a fist. Tight.”

 

His breath rushes out his nose at the touch. Under her hands, she feels his fingers tense and his cock throb. Something inside her stomach does the same and Toast sighs, pleased and warmed by the feeling and the sight of him doing what she wants.

 

Now his cock is shortened by half, and he looks much more manageable than before. It’s still more than she ever imagined would go inside her. 

 

Thinking back now, on how she wanted to drag him away from the training pits with as few words as possible and have him in some shady alcove - she’d have hurt herself. Slit would have torn her like Sweet Leaf did Dag, but it would have been Toast’s own fault that caused it. Now she can do it right - how it’s meant to be done. Languid and careful.

 

“Don’t move your hand, Slit...promise? I don’t want to end up like Dag.”

 

Slit nods, squeezing himself hard beneath her fingers, “I don’t want you to neither…” he confesses; honest and breathy. His other hand traces the slope of her breast before sliding down her ribs and rubbing the dip of her waist.

 

Toast marvels. He’s so much more gentle than she would have imagined he’d be, but maybe all the Warboys had the potential for this? Maybe they were all too quick to judge them. If Slit - the chromest Warboy, by his standards - could be like this then any of them could. Nux...Coma...and more of them. They all proved themselves more than they were thought to be.

 

Slit groans, curls his finger under her own and leans up. Toast catches his lips mid-journey and licks his mouth open with a moan. He tastes good too, even though maybe he shouldn’t for so many reasons, but he does, and it only urges her tongue to taste further, much to Slit’s glee, if the loud sounds and stretch of his lips are any indication.

 

“Ready?” Toast whispers against his lips, his tongue going to lick at her chin, kisses running down the front of her throat, making her head feel fuzzy. Maybe she was the one that needed to worry…

 

He nods at her shoulder, panting and his palm slides down her hip, squeezes as her fingers guide him to where she aches - where her insides clench around nothing. Where she needs him now. Always.

 

The moisture leaking out of her is more than enough for this, just as slick as when he finishes her with his lips, teeth and tongue. And the second the slippery tip of him brushes her, she feels drenched.

 

"...Toast..." he grunts, jerking at the sensation, but his hips don't leave the bed that is enough self-control on his end to make her trust in him blossom to it’s fullest.

 

“Okay…” Toast whispers, dizzy and breathless, “...ready.”

 

Her fingers curl around his own, feeling him squeeze himself as she eases down - her thighs shaking. The head of him slips inside, faster and easier than she’d have imagined and it’s only a fraction of time later that she brushes his fist, already so full yet empty of breath. It’s tight, more than his fingers have prepared her for.

 

The blood rushes in her ears, so loud that when she looks up from between her thighs to Slit he’s sucking in air through his teeth, making hard, ragged noises that must seep through the walls as sure as her sister’s sound do. The idea of Capable and Nux having to listen to her and Slit is both embarrassing and satisfying. All those sleepless nights and now she has Slit trembling and keening, hissing and whining underneath her like she’s giving him Valhalla and more. 

 

Toast hasn’t even moved yet and Slit’s acting as though she’s doing something to him so much more intense than just this, but when she finally does move, he goes still; hardened all except a thin sound in his throat. 

 

She moves carefully above him, enjoying the manageable size he’s made himself for her while his eye flicks open and close, teeth pulling at the side of his mouth furiously, as though he could keep the sounds dampened, she thinks, grinning. He’s so loud - just like the first time she pushed him down on her bed, except she can roll her hips up and stop the noises dead. It all appears to feel good to him, which is a relief when Toast can’t imagine handling any more of him than she already is. 

 

“Stop,” he begs suddenly, almost shouting.

 

Toast stills, shaken, heart hammering. Under her fingers, his fist is damp and hard as rock, tensing around his cock so tightly she marvels how it doesn’t hurt.

 

“Almost popped off for a second,” he explains, gasping. He looks equal parts blissed out of his mind and furious with himself.

 

Toast touches his stomach, careful not to move her hips and feels his abdomen jump under her fingers. He’s coiled like a living wire - all electrical impulses jarred by her touch, whether by this - what her fingers are doing - or by her insides fluttering around him.

 

Eventually, after what seems like half the night, Slit nods, breathing deep as his stiff fingers loosen, “Off the edge...I'm ready, just gotta keep a good grip on it.”

 

He squeezes himself under her again, so tight her cheeks heat up.

 

Slit nods once more, moving his hips enough to urge her into rocking back and forth. Toast tries to keep the sway steady but her thighs shake and the muscles in her stomach jump and jolt, not at all used to the position or the stress. Plus, the feeling is so intense that it's nearly debilitating. 

 

Slit’s free hand strokes her as she shakes, sensing something without her having to say. Without a word he leans up, their chests pressing together and lays her down on her side.

 

Toast swallows a yelp, thinking he’ll push her to her back - he’ll press her into her bed and do as he pleases. But that’s old thinking, and even older memories and he just rests in front of her, lounging on his side, pressing her into him.

 

He’s still jammed up inside her, and his fist's still wrapped tightly around the base and when she touches her palms to his chest, he thrusts gently within her and everything ignites once again.

 

It’s careful but no less unsteady than before. Awkward, maybe in a sense, but it feels just as good as before - better now that her legs aren't burning.

 

Slit’s muscles jump and shake just as hers did, but the slow pace he sets doesn’t falter, even when he holds her close with both hands at her back. The depth he thrusts goes no deeper than before except now he can stroke down her spine, kiss her chin and jaw and eventually her lips while the pleasure soaks inside. 

 

_No more failsafe,_ she thinks, sweating. Slit could split her in half if he wanted…

 

 

Toast curls her leg around his hip, pulls him closer and yet deeper, but it doesn’t matter because it still feels beyond wonderful. No pain. No discomfort to speak of, just waves and waves of bliss. 

 

“I’m about to-” she cries, gripping the dense muscle of his back and finding slick purchase around his bunched shoulder with her fingers, “...just like this.”

 

"Doesn't hurt?" he asks, strained.

 

Toast shakes her head, sucking in her lower lip as the sensation pulses. By now the pull in her stomach is familiar - and it is very much the same as before, but it’s more concentrated and sharp, enough so, that Toast thinks if she doesn’t breathe right, she’ll suffocate under it.

 

Slit twitches under her touch, presses his nose into her neck and hides there, grunting loud and long, "So small...soft- shine! - so fangin' tight..." and goes deeper again before jerking back quickly, as though realizing his mistake. Somewhere along her skin she hears her name, feels it ushered into her as though it’s an apology of some kind. But it felt good and her knee locks, bringing him closer and closer and yet still until she can feel the brush of his stomach against her own.

 

"Bloody hell..." she whines, arching, gasping as his hips slap into hers. Brutal, but still slow and careful.

 

_So deep_...he's so deep it should hurt. _He should be hurting her - but no...nothing ever felt so incredible before._

 

It’s so strong when she finds the edge, tipping over as though her arms are open wide, and the hot winds are whipping around her skin. She flies off the cliff, over into oblivion and somehow she’s on her back and Slit’s above her, meeting the rough roll of her hips into his. She's clawing at his back while hazily realizing she’s screaming her throat dry.

 

He feels like fire - wet fire - under her hands and in the midst of the seemingly endless waves crashing into her she feels him wrapped tight around her; hugging her as he follows her. 

 

In the dim yellow haze of her room, Toast sees Slit above her as he comes. She watches his eyebrows curl up, his one eye wet and half-leaking and his mouth parted, looking for all intents, hurt and near crying, but then he rolls his hips into her again and hisses, breaking out into a grin. 

 

She wants to laugh, wrap her arms around his neck and shout out loud, but instead she kisses him, surprised when he growls into her mouth and shoves her back into her bed, licking a burning path past her lips, to her teeth.

 

There's no turning back now.

 

Toast can feel the fill inside, subtle but warm and wet. _His seeds inside her..._  and for all she knows it could be planting a sprog too. The idea of it is pleasant, but she’s aware enough to know that in this lull of pleasure lots of things sound good, even breeding. Later, she'll probably feel different, but she hopes she doesn't.

 

"Glory...but I feel dead," he sighs once releasing her lips.

 

Slit pulls out of her slowly, enunciating the tight drag of flesh despite all the moisture. 

 

His next words are shallow and air-starved, “Did it hurt? You’re eyes are wet...”

 

Toast touches blinks, seeing him through a blurry film. She strokes the thin, puffy skin under one eye and finds that he's right. She’s leaking tears alright, but it doesn’t hurt - far from it. With a soft smile, she shakes her head. Words have failed her - stuck in her raw throat where they come out as a raspy breath. His brows are drawn in again, seemingly like he doesn’t believe her so pulls him down by the back of his head and kisses him happily. 

 

 

 

It isn’t until near morning that she speaks. Lying with him in bed, naked and pleasantly sore. It all felt too good to slip away into sleep, and the wet yellow reflection of the lantern in his eye reminds her he's not allowing sleep either. It’s quiet, and there were no real words spoken, but there weren’t any need for them. 

 

_Not really,_ she thinks.

 

“You know...I could be pregnant now, for all I know,” she whispers to the dimness of the room, feeling more than seeing his head turn to her, watching the side of her face as she struggles to keep a phantom smile off her lips. She must be krazy - _Toast The Krazy_ \- to think about the idea and smirk.

 

He snorts softly, curling on his side and throwing an arm over her stomach, thumbing the start of her ribs, “Should have spilled myself somewhere else. You and your Valhalla shake so fangin’ much I forgot about the sprog-stuff. Could have gunned a diesel my way and still not stopped it...”

 

Toast opens her mouth to question his choice of words, but then she stalls, “You know how it works then?” 

 

She assumed he did, but hearing it makes her shift to her side as well, looking at his partially shadowed expression of grim peace.

 

“Told you I knew how to rut you proper, didn’t I? Just forgot to do what Nux used to do,” he tells her, rubbing small circles on her back with his callused fingers and thumb, pressing away the leftover tension from her climax. _What Nux used to do?_ Toast bites her lip and presses her forehead to the hard, warm surface of his chest. It’s there she feels his heart thudding, strong and fast. _That explains why it took them so long,_ she figures. _But still…_

 

She can still feel the slick from his seed when her thighs rub together. It’s a slow leak now that she’s on her side, but it’ll be messier when she stands up. Just thinking about that makes her cheeks heat up despite how much she tries to push all that away. _Foolish,_ she thinks even though the word feels old and pointless now.

 

_It feels right somehow_ \- the feeling between her legs.

 

“I can’t tell if I like the idea of having one or not…” she admits, half to herself and half hoping he’ll lend her some reassurance, but he arches that eyeless brow.

 

“One what?”

 

Toast frowns, “A baby,” she says, pushing her nose against his skin once again.

 

“Isn’t that why you grabbed me in the first place? Good stock and all.”

 

For a moment, Toast feels sick, and then he squeezes her hip and nuzzles the top of her head, “You like me more than all that now, of course. Can’t say I blame you.” He's grinning - she can hear it as he blows the words over the top of her head. _Where did he get that idea, though?_ She thinks. But then isn’t it obvious he would have thought that at some point?

 

Why else would she have gone down to the pits for a Warboy? 

 

“I guess-” she tries, “-guess I originally just wanted to get fucked.” It sounds crass now that she says it, after what the real thing feels like. Making love was the best word for it after all...but never will she admit that to Dag. It still sounds flowery as all hell...

 

Toast shifts closer, feeling hot and sticky, but the feeling of him is better than any discomfort from the stifling heat. Slit's quiet, but words itch at her throat now. 

 

However, before she can open her mouth he’s asking, “Why wouldn’t you want one?”

 

“The blood…” she blurts, wrapping her arm around him, hugging him tightly, “...the idea I could die. Dag bled so much and...she’s not as small as I am.” 

 

It’s defeating to admit verbally how tiny she is. It’s become a budding joke among her sisters and now him, but she’s always been secretly self-conscious of it - but now it’s a physical hindrance. Not just a cute little slight.

 

“...could die?” he repeats, nearly crushing her in a sudden grip. 

 

“Then we won’t do it again,” Slit growls, rubbing up and down her back, curling himself, so she’s cradled against him, fully encased in his arms and legs. It’s heartwarming, more so, but Toast doesn’t have a word for it. Maybe it feels like her heart might burst - the affection and possession in his body and voice make her choke quietly before shaking her head.

 

“That’s not what I mean. I don’t want to stop.” 

 

Slit huffs. It’s confusing even to her. He couldn’t understand, “It’s just a worry...it doesn’t change anything.”

 

“Nothing worth you dyin’ on me.”

 

“...so you wouldn’t want to be a father?”

 

Against her forehead, Toast feels his heart hammering, pounding hard within - in the silence it’s also loud, but he grumbles, vibrating and mumbles, “Like a daddy?”

 

Toast frowns but nods, “Yeah.”

 

 He doesn't even have to think about it, “No point in that if you’re not around...rather have you than anything else.” - and for some reason it’s that which makes her eyes burn. He’s wrapped around her, warm and safe and he wants nothing else but her. _Yes,_ Toast thinks, _her heart just might rupture after all._

 

“You’d be alright with not having... not rutting with me again if that’s what it took?” she already knows his answer, but she has to hear it.

 

Slit chuffs; half-laughing before telling her with a nuzzle to her head, “Felt more shine than anything else, but all of you’s shiny and chrome. Even your rusty kicks feel good. I’ll manage without your wet Valhalla if I have too." 

 

He nearly ruins the sweet confession by pinching her rear, making her jerk. Toast glares up at him, but he’s all splitting grins, and it's hard to be annoyed - to not give him a rusty kick as well, but somehow she manages.

 

 

“If I’m not...pregnant,” she tells him after a while, “there’s some green thing I can take to keep it from happening in the future. I- I thought about taking it before tonight, but it felt wrong...somehow.”

 

It takes him a long time to say anything, but when he does she has to count her breaths.

 

“You’re Toast The Knowing - know better than me. You drive...and I’ll lance.”

 

“Slit,” she whispers, unsure what else to say except, “...you really _are_ the best Warboy.”

 

He nudges her head, urging her up to look at him where he smiles wickedly, “Told you that already ‘least you know now, Toast The Krazy.”

 

She smirks, powerless to help herself and warns him, “Don’t get too cocky…”

 

“Only got the one.”

 

At that she laughs, and eventually he chuckles after her, rolling her up on his chest, so she can lay flat on top him just how she likes before sleep.

 

It still feels dark outside, but she can’t be sure. The world will eventually come calling, but until then she rests her chest on his, inhales the musky smell of him and exhales; relaxing.

 

Maybe, if they’re lucky, they’ll get a few minutes of sleep before Capable comes knocking at her door. And, Toast would be lying if she said she wasn't excited to see if her red-haired sister has any thoughts to voice about the thin...stone...walls.

 

 


	12. Part 12 (The Impasse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
>  
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you and shout out to redcandle17, livileeeee, chromeshaft, babesabbath, Liisiko, Seconds2Silence, Zoadgo, twiggzzler, ida_pea, NickieSays, xenowhore and RubyQuinn. You all make writing this even more enjoyable than it already is!

Eight days passed by the time Dag could manage the stairs up to the high gardens, though Toast insisted climbing each step by counts of her breath and always with a hand hovering against her Sister’s back. 

 

It seemed too early to her that she should be allowed to walk even, let alone ascend to the high tops. What was even more disconcerting was that the Doof Warrior was allowed to hold Sweet Leaf, a few steps ahead of them, climbing the stairs blind and grinning. One misstep and he could throw them all down the stairs. 

 

When Toast voiced her worry in Dag’s room, her sister only scoffed, telling her the Warboy knew where to step better than they did. It made no sense...but Sweet Leaf was not her baby. If Dag insisted, then Toast could do nothing but watch with teeth toying on her tongue, hoping beyond hope, no one slipped. It was the longest walk of those stairs, Toast had even done. It wasn't even just that the soft, pink baby was balanced in a blind man's arms either...s titches were still mending the torn flesh between The Dags legs as well.

 

Toast was there when Maddie frowned, inspecting them with a pick before declaring that they needed several more days before they could be removed. It looked awful - a mess of pink, purple and red flesh and black string. The sight of it made Toast touch her fingers to her belly, wondering - not for the first time - if she was smart in not drinking the green-brew or not. 

 

It didn’t matter now whether it was risky or not. What was done was done and Capable told her she’d know if she was with a sprog in a few more days at the most. 

 

_It didn’t take long_ , Capable said. 

 

Dag and the Milk Mothers confirmed it the next night and since then Toast has been waiting for the sweat and nausea to wake her up in the night, but so far nothing has crippled her like the sickness her sister’s described.

 

Slit refused to fuck her since that night, seven nights passed until she did her 'shedding-thing' or started with the green drink. Most of the nights since he spent wrestling her in the covers, making a game of keeping her hands off him until he relented in his own way, letting her tease him with the wet slide of her vulva over his cock, enjoying the way he spilled on his stomach; gasping for breath with his fingers buried in her hips. _They didn’t need the other stuff;_ he’d told her, panting and licking his lips once he floated back up off the edge. _All he needed was her._

 

_He was right,_ Toast relented finally on the third night, because all she needed was him. And she'd survive happily, even if she never got to fuck him again. 

 

The morning sun is bright but cold when they reach the grassy landing, Dag cooing once her bare toes slide within the grass.

 

“You’ll let me sleep up here tonight, I won’t be confined to that bed anymore,” Dag tells her, smiling, holding tight along the delicate, gauzy wraps flowing at her thighs. She’s still hunched; hand cupped beneath her belly. Dag confessed that she felt like her innards would drop out between her legs when she stood up and that the feeling still lingered even now. It all sounded disgusting, but it was clear her sister deemed it worth the trouble when she looked over at Sweet Leaf.

 

The little girl was wrapped in a tight bundle of ripped, clean fabric, nestled in Coma’s arms, where she was rocked gently back and forth. Even over the noisy wind Toast could hear that strange clicking melody the Warboy made with his tongue and teeth - like music, but wet and too organic for her liking. Toast preferred the humming Dag did when Sweet Leaf cried in the night. But, the fact that the blind and quiet Warboy managed anything was impressive...and it was sweet...no matter how unusual.

 

She kept picturing Slit in this role - acting the father. _Could Slit play music with his mouth for a baby? Would he even bother? Would he hold him or her as carefully as Coma did Sweet Leaf?_ Toast had no doubt Slit would use as much care handling a baby as he did when handling her, but that didn’t mean he’d act as this Warboy did with Dag's baby. 

 

Toast shuffled close behind Dag, hands close to her sister in case she slipped on her soft feet, keeping her eyes on Coma as he laid with Sweet Leaf in a short crop of grass, laying her among the green before tracing her downy forehead. 

 

_Yeah,_ Toast thinks, Slit would do similar things...but altered. He was no average Warboy after all. Then again, none of them were really all that predictable.

 

“How have the Greenthumbs been with the new vines?” Dag asks, followed by more questions about the soil they mixed from the waste brought up from below - the clippings they potted on the night of the Blood Moon. Endless inquiries as though Toast has been keeping tabs on it all.

 

“They’re growing...I’m sure everything else has been fine too. You’ve only been in bed a little while,” Toast replies, reaching out when Dag’s foot slicks loudly in a steeped part of the earth, mud squelching between her toes. For a second her heart stops, but her sister is nimble even now and steps around the flood of soil, humming.

 

“What of the sour fruits? Have they turned yellow yet?”

 

Toast shrugs, “I don’t know. I only came up here that day you told me too. Like I even know what half these things are…” Dag gives her a look over her shoulder and Toast’s lips thin, “I didn’t see any yellow.”

 

“They must be limes then. I had hoped for lemons…”

 

“What’s the difference?” 

 

Dag smiles, blushing, “I don’t recall exactly, but yellow is more vibrant than the green. I thought the Warboys and Pups would be more apt to eat them if they didn’t look green.”

 

Toast scoffs at that, “If they’re sour I’m sure they’ll hate them no matter what color they are - once they get a taste, they’ll just toss ‘em.”

 

“Knowing the way they compete I’m sure we could turn it into a game between them. Who can manage the most without spitting it out? Winner gets something sweet,” Dag smirks, resting against a thick tree halfway through the short grove of apples. Those bright crystal eyes of hers scan back, spot her daughter and Coma, and she smiles happily, “The vitamins in the citrus fruit will help with their skin rashes, or so I read. All that paint they won’t stop wearing keeps them from burning on the runs...but I think it stops the benefits of the sun too. The fruit will help in that manner.”

 

Toast doesn’t doubt the fruit will help. It all has. Dag has read all the word burgers - the books - read them all and found what Warboy needs what based on the ailments they have. Only a few needed top-ups anymore. 

 

Silence grows lengthy between them as Toast watches Dag watch the two of her loves in the grass. Coma is leaning down while Sweet Leaf throws little hands on his face and nose, short chubby arms stiff and swinging.

 

Suddenly Dag turns, “How are you feeling? No morning sickness?”

 

Toast shakes her head, crossing her arms, feeling smooth bark between her shoulder blades.

 

“I told you to drink the tea, silly,” Dag smirks, clicking her tongue in much the way Coma does. She’s picking up his mannerisms like Toast is Slit’s and vice-versa. It’s charming, almost if it wasn't so damn weird when she did them. Dag arches a white brow and Toast shrugs, wondering herself why she didn't drink it.

 

“I can’t explain it," Toast begins, "- it just didn’t feel right. Slit...said I should drink it, though. He hasn’t wanted to fuck me since I told him about it.”

 

“So crass," Dag mocks. "You’re small, true, but as I said before, our bodies are perfected for this purpose. Men are made to plant the seed, and we’re made to grow it..." Dag pauses, reaching forth to hold Toast’s hand. She doesn’t realize she’s shaking until Dag tugs her closer, hushes her and hugs her around her shoulders, “if you get with a sprog you’ll be okay. We’ll make sure you’re prepared for it, like Capable will be...and like I wasn’t.”

 

Toast holds her sister, clinging carefully so as not to harm her healing body, but it feels so good to hug her again. It feels like it’s been thousands of days since she’d stroked her hair and inhaled her sweet, familiar smell. First it was Coma stealing her attention and then it was Sweet Leaf, and the blood and Toast feared so terribly that Dag would drown in all of it. Dag only feels real now that Toast os finally close to her again. 

 

“I missed you,” Toast whispers, muffled between her breasts.

 

“As did I...I’m sorry, but I’m here now. You can always sleep with me if you want you know,” and then she grins and pinches her rear until Toast yelps, laughing. Slit would just pout if he realized he’d have to sleep alone - she can see him now, all wrapped in the sheets with pillows in his arms and legs, huffing about being left to his lonesome. No doubt cursing and pulling her into his fleshy prison once she returned to him.

 

“You’ll have to share me with Coma, though, I let him lay with me and Sweet Leaf last night - I feel I’ve created a monster out of him now.”

 

Toast curls her lip at that, the Warboy is tolerable, and he has his good qualities, but Dag fawns over him as much as the baby when he’s around. It’s sickeningly sweet, and it makes Toast hope she’s not that sickening to watch when Slit is hovering about her. What’s worse is that she probably is that disgusting.

 

 

 

 

 

True to Dag’s word, when the moon shows up she refuses to come down for the last meal of the day. So Toast nudges a fuming Cheedo, who leaves, followed soon by Capable, who brings up a squirming cage of lizards, along with Nux, Slit and a few of Coma’s Drummerboys tagging behind with buckets of water, cups, knives and small pronged spears.

 

The Greenthumbs refuse to join them, opting to eat from the trees with the apprentice pups, showing them all how to test for ripe fruits and vegetables. 

 

Toast watches as Slit tosses little dead leaves and dried up twigs into a circle of stones.

 

He pokes her with a longer stick when she fingers the mesh cage with the fat lizards, ignoring him purposefully - he arches an eyeless brow and pats the flat stone beside him. _How could she refuse him?_ He’s resting on his heels, spine bent and fingers snapping twigs with a hot eye on her and once he gets a flame going, he looks even more feral, staring at her like he is. The yellow glow highlights all the burn scars; glassy like the moon off the water. _Like an oil slick maybe…_

 

When he speaks, it's a bottomless rasp that sets her insides screaming, “I got something to show you later.”

 

“Why don’t you show me now?” she teases.

 

Slit smirks, turning to the fire, tossing in more fuel before counting out the little spears. He doesn’t respond, his smirk eventually turning into a grin when he catches the obvious displeasure on her face. Toast hates surprises - at least she thinks she does. 

 

When he spears the wriggling lizards, Toast grows nauseous. A nervous sweat breaks out on her brow and for a moment, she’s convinced this means she’s with his sprog - that he’s done what Joe could never do, and it makes her feel all the sicker. A panic chases after her heart; racing and she feels Slit’s hand on her back, rubbing and soothing. At least he attempts to be soothing...

 

“What’s wrong?” it’s a demand, furious almost and she gulps down sick as he sets the speared lizard on the stone by the fire, still wiggling and slapping its tail in wide circles, oozing dark blood.

 

The slosh of water filters to her ears and before she knows it Slit’s wrapping her fingers around a refreshing cup of aqua cola, asking her _to drink - to feel better - to stop sweating and shaking._ Toast takes a swallow, feels the wet slide cold and moist down her throat, sinking heavy in her belly, dousing the ugly flame of anxiety and sick. Toast feels less like tossing up almost immediately, sighing in relief. 

 

“It’s fine,” she manages, squeezing his hand just as much for her as to try and reassure him she really is fine. The rough slap of her heartbeat is still going strong and the nausea of thick, but the panic starts to drain out of her with the sweat and after a minute the lizard dies and she feels better for it. 

 

“Maybe,” Toast swallows another mouthful of water, “perhaps you can break the lizards neck first?”

 

Slit doesn’t question her, just nods and takes the cup when she hands it to him. He gulps it down in two dull swallows that works the bulge in his throat alluringly. Slowly but steadily the nausea dissipates. The delicate snap of the lizard's necks get muffled by the crackling fire and by the time the meaty aroma of roasted reptiles fills the air the sickness is gone completely. 

 

Capable forgoes the lizard for the white mash from the bulbous roots, even going so far in her pleasure of them to spoon feed Nux a few mouthfuls, who immediately exclaims how delicious it is and begs for more. Nux's roasted lizards go ignored, only for Slit to slide around the fire and steal them when the giddy Warboy isn't looking. Toast bites her knuckle to keep in her amusement especially when Slit hisses in pleasure before stuffing the crunchy critters in his cheeks.

 

“Mediocre-shit likes anything she gives him,” Slit grouses by her side after swallowing the last of his stolen food. Now he's crunching the head off his blackened lizards loudly.

 

He won't say it, but she can tell he's still sour after her little episode with the nausea. _It was the sight of the wiggling lizard, though_ \- she’s sure of it now. Why it bothered her so much, Toast doesn’t know, but it did and she eats her own lizard slowly, careful of the head that she snaps off for Slit.

 

When she presents it to him, it’s almost as much of a reaction as when she gifted him his new scarf, which still hangs, dirty around his neck even now.

 

On her wrist, she feels the solid weight of his crafted bracelet for her and smiles as she nibbles on her food, turning to the fire when he lingers longer than expected on her ruddy cheeks, eventually crunching the offered head with a splitting smile.

 

Dag rolls an orange her way after the lizards settle - the soft bright orb bouncing against her ankle. Toast lends a smile to her sister before tossing the fruit, catching it easily after its failure against gravity.

 

“Here,” she tells Slit when he leans over, watching her, swallowing the last of his food, “peel this for me.”

 

Slit catches the fruit with one hand when she throws it, finally grinning wide enough his ears practically wrinkle - that’s how he needs to look. _Always brimming with smug pleasure._ At first it might have annoyed her, but now it’s as endearing as the sight of Dag feeding Sweet Leaf across the fire. As enjoyable as the tunes Coma plucks from his guitar and of the little nudges and touches shared between Nux and Capable over the low flames.

 

“This suppose to be drippin’ like this?” Slit asks and Toast nearly laughs when she looks over and sees him with the orange ripped in half, dribbling all on his pants and down his arms. 

 

_Maybe he thought it was an apple or something else?_

 

Either way it makes no sense that he would rend the things in half like that. Toast takes it from his hands, bites her tongue when his lips peel back as he wiggles his fingers, sticky droplets landing everywhere.

 

“...sticky,” he remarks, licking the juice off his fingers.

 

Toast watches his lone eye widen at the taste. A soft sound flows out of his nose, from deep within his throat and she smirks as he continues to licks off all he can, sucking on his fingers and tonguing down his arm until she’s part mortified by the wetness gathering between her legs at the display.

 

She eyes the rest of them silently. Capable is feeding Nux the last spoonful of the mash, whispering to him as he grins and Dag's handing Sweet Leaf over to Coma while the Drummerboys watch as Coma rubs her impossibly tiny back.

 

_No one is looking them._ Not a single one of them is paying any attention to Slit as he groans, licking off the juice that must already be gone, but still he searches for the taste regardless.

 

Toast brushes her fingers against his back, smiling when he jerks up to eye her. 

 

“Follow me,” she whispers, grabbing at his arm, sticky from the juice and his saliva. He comes more than willingly. 

 

Anticipation coils in her stomach as she leads him away from the fire, looking back to make sure no one notices, but Dag is watching and smirking and soon will be laughing no doubt, so Toast urges Slit into a run that pushes them through the trees and deeper into the oldest cluster of the orchard. He realizes what she intends just before she stops him, her back bouncing against the thick, smooth bark, throwing them off balance, so he tumbles against her. Warm skin floods heat through the clothes, infusing her body with fever.

 

“Right here?” he asks breathless appetite in his question. _Yes,_ Toast thinks then pulls him closer and sighs when he promptly leans down to give her a taste of the orange from his lips. His tongue is drenched in the sweet flavor, and when she groans and suckles on it, he shivers like he’s caught a chill.

 

The solid surface of the tree is at her back, much like the stone wall the first time he tossed her off the edge, but his lips are skilled at plucking hers open now, feasting on her and dragging those loud blissful sounds out her. _Right here,_ she wants him right here. _To hell with the risk of a sprog._ Toast wants him within her again…

 

“You don’t have to be quiet this time, I don’t care anymore,” she gasps against his lips, recalling the way he had to bite into the side of his arm when she decided to tease his cock with her mouth the night after Capable teased her about being too noisy. Toast had felt self-conscious of it, yes, but she didn't care anymore. Let him be as loud as he wanted. Nux certainly didn't bite his arm to keep quiet. 

 

Toast wraps her fingers in Slit's belts, unbuckling them despite her clumsy hold. He shivers again, hums around her tongue just as she pulls his cock out into the crisp night air. _Hard as living stone_ , she stares, sighing as his hips start to sway within her loose grip. His flesh pulses - swells, and it takes no time to shift out of her pants, the dense canvas falling to the soft grass with a solid sound.

 

Toast laughs, blissful and wild. Dazed yet agile, she hefts herself up on his hips, cupping the back of his head for another kiss. The kiss doesn’t come, though, and he starts prying at her thighs.

 

“Wha-” she starts, her feet touching down on grass again. “What are you doing?”

 

“Not doing that again until you start on the green stuff,” he doesn’t sound upset, even leans in to kiss her neck, but Toast pushes him away, staring up at the glimmer in his eye. His lips are parted, wet and puffy from the kisses. He doesn’t have a lick of judgment on his face, but she finds fault in it somehow and presses back into the tree, frowning. 

 

“What does it matter if you get me with a sprog?” she forgets he doesn’t feel any different than before. Dag didn’t hold him and tell him it would be alright if it happened - didn’t reassure him of anything else but the possibility she’d die...and she still could, but for some reason that matters so little right at this moment. The need pounds between her legs and all she wants is him to fill the emptiness inside her. Toast feels herself craving the wet feeling of his seed spilling within her as much as water on a long, sweltering day.

 

Slit eyes her suspiciously, but he smirks before licking his lips lasciviously, “Let me do the tongue thing instead,” he hisses it, and it should work on her, especially when he takes a step further, his hard cock pressing into her stomach as he whispers, “I’ll use three fingers this time…”

 

He’s already on his knees when she opens her mouth to argue, but Toast jerks away when his hands pull at her hips. 

 

“No,” she growls, but he beams as if it’s some game and coils an arm around her rear, dragging her in with enough strength to put four of her down on the ground.

 

“Fang off,” she seethes, “I don’t want that - I don...haaa…” his tongue slides between her clenched thighs, working between them and somehow managing to find the stiff nub with the tip of his tongue. His mouth is laid wide open on her, hot breath oozing all down her thighs as he teases the sensitive bud despite how she clenches her legs together. _Why bother laying on the act?_ \- it feels good...all he wants is to make her feel good.

 

“Bloody hell, I hate that you’re so good at this,” she moans, wondering if it’s worth the headache of his gloating later to concede and spread her thighs so he can do this and more to her. It’s not her first choice, _but bollocks does it feel beautiful._

 

Slit removes his tongue, and she embarrasses herself by the whine she makes at the loss of contact.

 

He’s already gloating, “Juicier than the orange-thing….tastier too, let me get inside you - I’ll lick you as deep as my thunderstick can go.”

 

Toast very much doubts that. 

 

He doesn’t seem to realize how big his thunderstick really is, especially compared to his tongue, but it’s hard to argue when he slides his tongue back between her vulva and moist inner thighs, groaning while trying to reach more of her. It feels like a defeat for only a second when she spreads her legs, before his mouth opens along her, engulfing her flesh and sucking until she feels her eyes sting, and then his fingers slide up within her, first one then two and three and _By The Moon_ it’s almost as good as his cock.

 

It’s not as deep, but that’s fine - it’s all sweet, stretching pleasure of loud, sloppy noises from his lapping tongue and sucking lips and it’s the death of her, shaking like a falling leaf against the tree. 

 

She climaxes sharp and sudden, groaning softly as he licks the feeling into her over and over again until her knees go useless, and she lands, slumped in his lap; boneless.

 

Slit kisses along her neck, sucking away the sweat from her skin furiously as he strokes his cock between their thighs.

 

_He’s so loud,_ she smiles. They’ll probably hear them through the thick tree trunks. All of their noises carried by the wind. It’s still a gratifying thought that she can throw these sounds their way rather than be the recipient of them only. 

 

Soon, hot spurts of his seed coat her stomach, one thick drop glazing her wrist as he howls, teeth open on her shoulder, hunched and shaking and his fist working over himself fast enough she’s sure it’d be but a blur if she looked. 

 

“Toast,” he sighs, churning his hips up into his grip, slower now and then eventually still. She feels his forehead laid up on her shoulder, hot and dripping sweat. Her name leaves his lips again, and it comes out like when he mutters V8 or Valhalla. She shouldn’t enjoy how her name has become as important to him as these reminders of an old life - a lie - but these things still mean so much to him that she can’t help but feel self-satisfied to be compared with them. It’s wicked; she’ll admit that, but she likes it too. Loves it.

 

“Still need my thunderstick now?” he breathes, curling his tongue over her neck again - the flesh feels sore like he might have sucked on it too hard in his passion while he slipped off the edge. 

 

“Hmph,” she snorts, smiling despite herself, “If you gave it to me now I wouldn’t complain, but yeah, I suppose your tongue’s just as skilled.”

 

Toast teases his softening cock, resting over her thigh, even though he seethes in that way he does when it’s so sensitive it pains him, but she’s seen him in good lighting enough to know he relishes it despite the intensity.

 

Slit gives the tender flesh behind her ear a kiss before bending back, fisting her rear as he gazes down at her.

 

“You know,” Toast begins, thumbing the metal brackets studded in his stomach, tracing old scars and the newer burns alike, “you could have just done what Nux said. Just pulled out of me...it worked for them until he stopped didn’t it?”

 

“Dunno if he stopped or not, just said it’s what he did,” Slit clarifies, eyeing her, “That green-shit sounds safer for you, wouldn’t want to rely on me always spillin’ outside your sweet Valhalla,” he smiles wide, nuzzling her nose with his. Toast finds herself getting annoyed again, but he’s right. He cares...more than anyone has about her maybe...and she shouldn’t get annoyed with him.

 

"Can't trust me to keep much sense when you milk me like that."

 

“Fine,” she manages, putting on a smile, “but once I start drinking it you better hope you’re not training a mess of pups, because,” she drags her nails down his chest, feeling his breath leak out sharp and loud, “I’m going to rut you wherever I find you.”

 

Slit vibrates, squeezing her bottom roughly - looking for all appearances pleased at the threat.

 

“Can you do it in front of Jasper?”

 

Toast laughs, and though she has no doubt Slit is serious, he chuckles too and squeezes her flesh, nosing her jaw and nipping at her until it’s clear they need to buckle back up and return to the fire. Where, of course, all eyes shift to them, though when Toast blushes she’s not half as embarrassed as she would think.

 

Slit’s tongue just gives her spirit; she thinks, smirking as Slit starts to suck on the forgotten orange with a ravenous glee - a glee he showed early between her legs.

 

Just a few more days, Toast reminds herself, soaking up the heat from the fire and letting the tunes that flow from The Doof Warrior’s axe lull her half-asleep against Slit, who only manages to feed her a couple soggy bits of the sweet orange before she falls asleep in his lap, pleasantly weakened by him and him alone. It doesn't occur to her until on the brink of sleep that he never got to show her what he had in store for her tonight. _In the morning then...because this - this felt too perfect._  


 

 


	13. Part 13 (The Call)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Summary: Slit is usually the one pursuing Toast in fics, so I'd like to see things flipped.
> 
>  
> 
> Me too, OP, me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait and a huge thank you and shout out to xenowhore, chromeshaft, redcandle17, colorofakiss, epic_cephalopod, Liisik, twiggzzler, ida_pea, Daydreamisallihave and babesabbath. You are all wonderful and keep me inspired!

Slit only curls his nose the one time when she demands he bathe. He concedes to her before he can try doing something drastic like drag her down to the pits for her so-called ‘surprise’. She has no doubt it will be interesting at least, given the nonchalance he had in presenting her - or more like The Dag - her bracelet. If he’s this eager to show her it must be something profound. 

 

Toast is tempted to just let him do as he pleased, but that morning when he’d curled himself around her when she tried to crawl out of bed it was hard to deny he reeked too much of sweat and grease to ignore any longer.

 

“I was all over you,” he grumbles, letting the loose waist of his pants that he didn’t even bother to buckle fall to his ankles by the pool, “bet my stink's rubbed off.” 

 

Toast looks at him over a word burger, pages half torn but still interesting, and arches a brow as he studies her with that one, red, hot eye of his. He’s not that good at persuasion, she thinks, but she still ends up setting her book down to remove her thin clothes and join him anyway. 

 

Slit looks too pleased with himself when she wades into the water beside him, even if she ignores his little splashes for her attention so she can scrub her hair of the musky smell, which is no doubt his fault. It’s harder to ignore him when he starts laying the water over her back, though - rubbing it in with unpracticed hands that still feel nice. His nails scrape carefully up the back of her neck and then through her hair, eliciting a violent, pleased shake of her shoulders.

 

“What was that?” he pauses, fingers sliding down her shoulders.

 

“Nothing, just felt good is all…” Toast sighs, shifting away when she feels his cock nudging up at her hip. She turns around to find him grinning, face wrinkled and smug. If only she could find that face a little less endearing than she does. Slit rubs his thumbs into her shoulders, pulling her closer almost imperceptibly slow. 

 

“Did you get everywhere?” Toast asks, just as his cock brushes her belly.

 

“Might have missed one spot,” he manages before leaning down to her neck where his mouth seals over the point of her pulse, nipping with teeth and heating with his tongue. Maybe he’s more persuasive than she gave him credit for. He has swayed her decision on a few things if she can recall properly. Yes, Toast sighs, he’s good at playing her how he wants, but she’s just as good at that too. It’s obvious when she slides her hands down his stomach, finding his cock stiff and slick against her water-soft skin. 

 

Her sisters will hate her when they realize she brought Slit to orgasm in the pool…then again, she has a suspicion that both The Dag and Capable might have done the same with their Warboys. It’s not as disgusting of a thought as she would have thought, especially not now given her relationship with Slit and men in general once again. 

 

Slit growls, tense under her touch.

 

“Here, sit up over here,” she tells him, guiding with her fingers wrapped around his pulsing length, smirking when he makes a thin sound but follows, stumbling through the drag of water. Slit hops up on the edge of the pool and though he seems hopeful that he knows what she’s about to do, he still makes a surprise, awe-stuck noise in the back of his throat when Toast wraps her lips around him.

 

She’s only done this the one other time, and he tastes less strong than before, whether that’s a good thing or not Toast isn’t sure. It seems appropriate that he deserves to feel this, since he’s made a habit of doing this to her as often as she lets him and...it’s not so bad, in fact, she finds herself enjoying it in a strange way. 

 

The noises he makes for her are just as loud and ragged as ever, but Toast feels like she may have more control over the ones he makes this way. Teeth bring out the half-silent whimpers. Her tongue up along the bulbous knot under his tip seems to leave him a bumbling mess and if she strokes the excess with her hand he sounds like someone’s flaying him from toes to scalp...in a good way.

 

Toast smirks around him just as his fingers run hesitantly around the back of her head.

 

Like before he doesn’t last long, and the salty taste she was missing from before bursts on her tongue and down her throat, hot and thick. It’s hard to swallow, but something about it leaves her feeling pleased - nothing as powerful as if he’d done this same thing to her, but enjoyable nonetheless.

 

“Toast…” he shudders, looking rarely flushed now that the paint is scrubbed clean and gone, cheeks and nose tinged the same shade as his worked-over cock. She can see his stomach muscles still twitching and the strength in his thighs under her hands has fled him. Weak, Toast notes with a smile, licking the taste away from her lips and giving his cock a lingering kiss before he leans down to lick at her chin as if he could catch some of the spill from her mouth. He seems half-way disappointed and impressed that there nothing left of his seed - that she swallowed it all…

 

For once she presses him back when he goes after her, ready to do whatever she wants him to for her own pleasure, but she’s sore and there’s a tenderness in her stomach that signals something she’s both hopeful for and dreading - and the combination of those odd clashing emotions has left her drained of the desire she normally feels. 

 

“You not runnin’ feral for me?” he rasps, running his long fingers more confidently through the choppy length of her hair. Toast shakes her head gently, careful to not rid herself of his soothing fingers.

 

“It happens before the blood comes I guess. Don’t worry about it.”

 

If the aches not there then how can he sooth it?

 

Slit only looks mildly worried before she pulls herself out of the pool and dries off, smiling down at him, “I haven’t got all morning you know, better get out and get dressed.” 

 

By dressed she means more than just his pants. His ugly tins of white warpaint and grease are up in her room and he makes it clear how eager he is by nearly sprinting up to her room naked and dripping, his pants forgotten.

 

As Toast dries off the short strands of her hair a delicate noise filters from Capable’s room. She turns, smirking just as the door cracks.

 

“Is it safe to come out now?” her sister calls from behind her door, delight and tease as well as embarrassment in her voice.

 

“For a little while, at least. He left his pants down here, though,” Toast replies, biting her tongue to tear away the laughter from underneath the tattered towel. With all the holes in the material it’s easy to spot her sisters copper-colored head as she sways over towards the small bench, sitting herself down with a soft sound. She smells like Nux and the green things with the buds - like grease and flowers…

 

“Have you seen it yet?” Capable asks, dabbing at Toasts water-beaded knee with the edge of the towel idly, smiling a secretive smile that’s curled more heavily at the edges - too knowing to be innocent.

 

“Nope, he’s getting himself all dolled up first.”

 

“You can’t have expected him to show off what he’s done without his paint on? He’s even worse than Nux is about showing off to the others. Maybe it stems from them not ever having anything to call their own...not that we’re owned or things...but you understand…” Capable mutters, trailing off with her eyes on the smooth surface of the pool. With the sprog growing inside her, Capable has been erupting in sentimental motions, without any reason. It’s not bad, Toast knows, just adorable and silly. Maybe a bit foolish.

 

Toast arches a brow, ruffling the back of her neck dry as Capable’s smile slowly turns down, brows bunching, “Did he-”

 

“Did he what?” Toast grins, feeling mischievous as she hears the dim sound of Slit’s paint tins clip closed, the door ajar but his form hidden by the hard angle. The metal and tools in his pockets normally signal anyone to his movement, but the sound doesn’t warn Capable when he walks out of Toast’s room. Her poor sister’s gaze draws upwards then down and then sharply to Toast - she looks mortified. 

  
  


It’s enjoyable to watch her sister not only assume she’s tainted the pool they all use with Slit’s seed but that she just caught a view of him as well, and it’s even better leaving her thinking so when Slit grabs his pants off the floor with a neutral expression. He’s completely unaware of Capable’s face turning the same color as her hair.

 

Then again, the last time everyone saw him naked was when The Dag gave birth, and Toast can’t recall him being half hard then as he is now. Slit fastens his pants, turns to them while buckling his belts and nods at Capable, but flicks his tongue lewdly at Toast, lips curling ragged and ruined.

 

_ Like a bloody lizard for sure... _

 

He plops down on the floor to get his boots on, grunting and grinning, eventually pulling out a tiny tin and smearing black fingers around his eyes and then up, messily over his forehead until he looks properly violent and demonic and feral, staring right up at her.

 

“Ready? Toast the Krazy,” he seethes happily.

 

_ Can’t do much but nod yes at that _ , Toast thinks. She’s no more than an extension of him now.

 

“You coming,” Toast asks Capable after fixing a small smudge of black off Slit’s chin with her thumb, ignoring the way his eyes pine up at her. If she gives into him she’ll never leave the Vault again. Capable touches her shoulder softly, pushes a little kiss to her cheek and giggles that rotting sound again. Her sister’s still red and blushing and smiling, but she shakes her head.

 

“I’m tending to Dag this morning…” her eyes crinkle, “but I’ll see you later tonight.”

 

Toast might have imagined it, but she swears by the moon that Capable gives Slit a shy smile, eyes lowering down his chest before skipping elegantly up the ramp to the Dag’s room where her blonde sister is no doubt still asleep.

 

“I think she just eyed you like I eye you…” Toast mutters, folding her arms tight with half serious annoyance and the rest put on for Slit’s benefit. He just grins, cheeks wrinkling as he pinches her elbow.

 

“Cause I’m more chrome than Nux - can’t see why she likes that little traitorous shit, ‘cept he traitored for her I guess.”

 

“I suppose so,” Toast smiles, leaning in to kiss the center of his chest softly, “You are pretty bloody handsome I suppose.”

 

“Handsome?” he asks. Toast has a suspicion that he knows what it means, but he’s nothing if he’s not a sucker for flattery.

 

“It means you’re shiny and chrome,” she whispers and then swipes her tongue up his skin, tasting the tang of paint and fresh water, “but you’re also burning daylight and I have plans other than sitting here with you all day.”

 

Slit looks more than a bit chuffed when she looks up at him - he’s hard to stomach sometimes, but she manages it somehow when he says with bared teeth and a glint in his eye, “Let’s ride then.”

  
  


\----

  
  


“She’s gone twenty days. There would have been a sign by now,” Dag assures the Milk Mother that’s declared herself the one to decide whether or not Toast is ready to drink the green-stuff.  _ Experience _ , she says, but Toast doubts the aged mother of over twenty pups has ever had to drink it or been allowed to. 

 

“Knows the signs, this one does...is better to wait for the blood to come.”

 

Another one chimed in, nodding, jowls jiggling humbly. Toast likes the youngest one - with the big brown eyes and puffy, pink lips. She is popular with some of the Warboys as well, and something about that sparks Toast’s interest. When she’s in the room, Toast always finds herself gravitating towards her, listening to her soft simple voice and watching the wide curve of her smiles. In a way, the Milk Mother reminds her of a mother she only barely remembers…

though she couldn’t be more than a thousand or so days older than Toast herself.

 

“Safest route. The pesticide could deform whatever’s inside if she’s already bred.”

 

Toast only half-listens, watching the young Milk Mother cleaning off Sweet Leaf with gentle long strokes of a bright, white cloth. Her thoughts drifting as the chatter becomes a droning lull, like erratic humming. 

 

That morning Slit left on another run, this one meant for Gastown - this one less simple than the last one. Furiosa told them last night that tensions were high after she agreed to send a Milk Mother to the Bulletfarm - one who originated from the settlement, wanting to return to a family she barely remembered. It wasn’t long before Gastown deemed they were in need of Milk Mother’s too, and the new head refused any excuses, withholding gas while leaving their Polecats and settlers with meager water rations. 

 

Slit didn’t seem to care about the reason behind the run, just that he’d get to go. And while having him with her in the morning and nights was the only reason she’d been sleeping so well - it would do him some good to do what Warboys were bred to do. It was in his bones, flesh and gut...and without the Road he wouldn’t be Slit.

 

_ “We go too long between raids now and no one wants to fight me anymore, not after Jasper...fangin’ smeg bled too much.” _

 

It’s even worse now though - the worry was like a mutant bug lodged in her throat. Everyone was talking about the green-stuff. Pesticide, they called it. If they thought there was still a chance she had a sprog then maybe she did. And if she did, then it’s father was out there in semi-hostile territory, hanging on the back of her own design with a bunch of explosives jostling in the wind. 

 

Toast bites her lip and reaches for a word burger, flipping through the pages just for the sound of worn paper flapping in her ears. The feel of the edges is soothing, but her heart continued racing regardless as they begin to bicker back and forth.

 

She feels like she’s submerged in quicksand, buried up to the throat, suffocating on anxiety as the dawning light refracted out from the window panes in Dag’s room warm her tight skin.  _ Breathe, _ she whispers to herself, breathing in counts and hums.

 

_ The panic will ebb and Slit will come back. All is well... _

 

“The sickness always comes,” Dag argues from her bed, a thin sheet under her naked hips. 

 

Maddie arrived before light to remove the stitches, but also demanded Dag stay in bed when the removal of the strings brought blood to the surface. It had been gruesome to watch from what Capable said. Dag insisted she was fine, even though Toast could see the pain creasing her sister’s eyes and brow. Toast would have not taken it well if she’d had to deal with a bundle of itchy stitches down there…and then the pain of having them removed.

 

_ “Not always.” _

 

_ “Most times…” _

 

Toast steps away from the small crowd of women, realizing that though they talk about her they don’t seem to realize she’s there. The paned glass windows are more interesting than the conversation anyway. She’s already agreed with Dag to do as everyone agrees on. She wasn't familiar with this - they were. So the final say went to them. It was only logical. 

 

“I seem to be outnumbered then…” her sister huffs.

 

Even through the dimpled blend of colors, Toast swears she can see the fumes of Gastown. Loving Slit made the time he was away worse than the fear sickness she experienced on the Fury Road and moments like this made her wish, to a small degree, she didn't love him as much as she did.

 

Silence tickles at her ears and when Toast turns around they are all watching her. Dag is smirking but it's one that shows she won't like the verdict they’ve all come to. They don’t offer her anything, just watch.

 

“Well?” Toast asks, already knowing the answer, it comes as no surprise when they tell her that she should wait until after her blood comes.

 

“Only way to be sure.”

 

It's not the worst thing they could say. It's disappointing, but Slit was right. Fucking wasn't the only thing they could do and he confessed that though he enjoyed the things she did to him and the things he did to her, he didn't need them. She was enough, just as she was, according to Slit.  _ Smeg. _ She loved him because of that and a thousand other things - not because he was a Warboy.

 

“That’s fine. I’m sure I’ll manage somehow,” Toast mutters sarcastically, folding her arms as the slow sound of engines from below set her nerves on fire again. It’s not the party, it’s just the Garageboys testing the older rigs they’ve been restoring and they’ll be gunning it late into the day and night too…

 

There’s no point waiting up with open senses for them to come back. Maybe she’ll wake up to him crawling into bed, bloody and sweaty and his hands running all down her body, whispering terrible things in her ears as he plucks her like that Warboy Coma does his strings. Her body gets struck with a sudden throng of longing. She should have taken him up on her pleasure before he had to rush out on a smog of burning rubber and hellish howls for violence.

 

Toast feels eyes burning her as she leans along the railing, peering out through a small crack to the yellow sands of the wasteland, mind wandering.

 

_ “I welded the framing on myself - fuckin’ Nux wanted to do it, but he ain’t got your drawings,” he tells her, unfolding a compressed square from one of his pockets that as it turns out is three of her blueprints, along with the one he improved upon.  _

 

_ “He wouldn’t show any of us,” Nux mutters from behind her, only half upset it seems, he’s mainly grinning and bouncing on his feet behind her. Slit tugs at her wrist, pulling her around the car him and Nux will be taking out in a matter of hours. It’s a mess of metal and hard lines - of death and harm and thundersticks hidden all along. Everywhere. _

 

_ One wrong turn and the whole thing could go up.  _

 

_ Furiosa looked pleased, but Toast couldn’t be convinced even though she finds herself plastering on a smile and nodding, making the appropriate noises when Slit looks over at her after showing her the drawings and then the parts he built. Nux follows at their heels like a lost puppy, commenting eagerly and kicking parts that Toast worries aren’t stable enough, but in fact are. _

 

He’s going to come back with something else missing, Toast thinks, knows and then dashes the fears with a pinch to her forearm. The sting of pain pulls her back, but not far enough and when she turns around to Dag and the Milk Mothers it must be obvious she’s distraught. They don’t seem to know why, though, because one of them frowns, pets her shoulder and reassures her, “It’s only a week’s time left - you’ll be fine little one.”

 

Toast nods, nods and smiles and rushes out of the rooms as soon as it’s not completely unfounded. The Milk Mothers won’t know the difference, but the small glance she sends Dag’s way tells her she knows.  _ The Dag always knows _ . Why she wasn’t coined ‘The Knowing’ Toast will never know.  _ What does Toast know anyways _ , she curses, slipping up to her rooms to immediately shut her door and sink into her bed.

 

Panic grips her, an unwavering blanket that tightens its hold until she doesn’t know whether to run from it fruitlessly or remain still, hoping it will vanish.

 

“It will,” she whispers to herself. It will pass, but it must not have because she wakes up to heavy sounds in her room - the darkness like a balm. The anxiety has left her raw like an old virus, but a body lays down beside her, warm and solid and her lips stretch into a relieved smile. It’s only when she shifts, throwing her arm over the warmth that she realizes it’s not Slit.

 

“He’s down in the Organics,” Cheedo whispers, curling fingers around her shoulder.

  
At that, it feels like the world dies all over again...


	14. Part 14 (The Rain)

Toast could only sit and wait. It was patience she needed and for some reason, it was now that she realized she wasn’t very good at it - not when it came to something like this. There was no adrenaline keeping her mind occupied while her body was at rest. No engines belching flames or gunshots in the distance. There was silence and when there wasn’t silence there was the steady drip of blood - of water from the rocky ceiling and of her sanity. 

It felt like that eternal place bad souls went. Hell, she recalls with her fingers threading back and forth, rubbing her skin raw. 

Slit hasn’t woken since she’s been here. Four days now, she thinks. It’s hard to tell time now, but her blood has come and her eyes are still red from that fact. Having him half dead beside her and knowing that if he dies she’ll have nothing left of him is more painful than it has any right to be. Who would have thought? Toast the Knowing, crying over not being bred with a sprog. It was almost funny if she wasn’t on the edge of more tears just looking at Slit, nearly motionless.

He won’t die. Everyone said so. They told Toast as many times as she would listen but it’s hard to believe them when Slit still hasn’t woken up - when he hasn’t made a single noise, even when they had their fingers buried in his gut trying to put everything back together. 

He could have been roadkill. He looked like it the first time she saw him. Now he’s just a mess of fresh wounds, stitched in jagged formations where his skin has rendered in places. It looked like a messy spider web, done by a very mediocre crawler. To her the sight of the stitches is disgusting, but when Slit sees it she knows he’ll find ways to show it off…

Slit makes a rattling snore of breath and Toast bruises her palms on the chair arms in fright - the sound grips her heart and crunches it. Stupid, she curses, deflating as he goes still again. Any more of this and it might be her in a bunk unable to wake up. The stress and tension hid under her skin and inside her ribs are more noxious than anything she’d experienced on the road or maybe it just feels that way because of how long she’s felt like this. Still, the feeling is unmatched by anything else. How that was possible she’d stopped asking herself. The point was she needed to breathe - she needed to find her breath and clear her mind...just be and not be all at once.

She tried to sit still, but another wheeze snaps her eyes open, brings her up on the bare pads of her feet to the side of the bunk where Slit laid; lips parting with shallow breath and nothing else.

Toast frowns, curls her toes into the smooth stone floor and digs her nails into her palms.This is the sixth time she feels like punching him in the chin...

He’s a dumb, reckless smeg and she should never have picked him. Of all the war boys she could have...should have chosen over him. She should never have let herself love him - shouldn’t have fucked him either. There had been hope those first couple of days that even if he did pass on to whatever afterlife awaited them, she’d have a child from him she could take care of, but now there’s nothing and if he dies... if he dies she’ll never forgive him. 

Should have picked a gyver boy, least those ones didn’t throw themselves under the wheels.

“Bloody foolish,” she whispers and whether she calls herself that or him, she’s not sure. But the proof of her pain is right there in front of her. Breathing but barely alive, maybe never waking up, or waking up soft inside.

Toast watches him silently for what feels like hours until her feet start to ache and she finds herself slumping back in her chair. A former Bloodbag comes in a little while later to shove a tube down Slits throat. The old, skinny husk of a woman barely acknowledges her but to avoid Toast’s extended legs across the floor. It’s an obnoxious thing to do - to make herself a road block for someone just doing what they’re told, but it feels like something Slit would do if he was in her position, so she leaves her legs spread as she pulls at the loose frays on her skirts. She doesn’t want to watch her feed him, but she doesn’t have the trust to leave her alone with him in case something should happen.

Toast hadn't thought that it could be so horrific, not because he was being fed a dirty, off-colored tube - though that in of itself was terrifying - but because of how little he moved when they did it. Why wasn't he struggling? Or even gagging...she made more of a fuss the first time she'd put his cock in her mouth. 

When the woman is done and the funnel is removed she steps back over Toasts ankles with a gruff hack. The silence settles in like a parasite after that.

It isn't until well past the moon's zenith - she can tell even from down here - that anyone comes to see her. Toast doesn't want to deal with the sympathy her sisters give. It's not that she doesn't appreciate it because she does, along with the little platters of fruit and cooked critters they leave for her, but nothing will change her disposition until her dumb, smeg-soft Lizard King wakes up. And he sure has been taking his bloody time.

Cheedo is the first of her sisters to come down for their nightly checkup; not trusting Toast to take care of herself it seems. Toast isn’t soft, she's eaten what they bring her and drank the cola without any fuss. Slit may be bunk ridden but she won't let herself willingly suffer a similar fate while she waits for him to recover. Capable especially doesn't seem to realize this and refused to leave her alone for the first three days.

An unripened strawberry, sour and hard, briefly takes her mind off the man ahead of her.

“How do you feel?” Cheedo asks, easing down into a moldy cushion beside her legs, watching her grimace at the fruit. Those big brown eyes of hers are hard to lie to, so Toast takes a careful breath before telling her the truth. 

“I hate him,” Toast admits, worrying the shredded scarf of Slits in her lap like a bloody leather bit during an amputation. They'd cut the blood-soaked thing off him before Toast had even seen him. If it wasn't for her spotters eye she'd have missed it being fondled by a greedy war pup. No one questioned her when she reached down and snatched the scarf out of the little grubby hands, screaming feral at it. 

“It's not his fau-” Cheedo tries, but she's wrong. 

“No,” Toast grumbles, staring hard at Slit on the bunk, chest, and stomach a mess of prickly stitches; black blood bruises clinging around the fusing skin, “it's completely his fault. Dumb, stupid smeg thought he was immortal. Well, he's not…”

Despite Toast’s harsh words, at her side, Cheedo smiles, “You're going to have an even harder time convincing him of that when he wakes up.”

Toast feels new tears burn behind her eyes. She's supposed to be harder than this, but the sting in her eyes won’t stop because she tells it to, “...what if he doesn't wake up? What then? There's,” she swallows then finally admits it, “there's nothing of him left. I’ve got nothing left.”

Beside her, Cheedo goes quiet, but then a small hand rests on her knee and Toast looks down to find her sister tight-lipped and staring. They were never all that close. Out of all her sisters, Cheedo was the one she spoke with the least, maybe even avoided in some respect. The strange way the girl had arrived - so eager and pleased to be yet another wife destined to breed or die - Toast just hadn't wanted anything to do with her. Being told on like a naughty child after getting caught in Slit’s lap didn't help their relationship any either, but something was changing between them.

Cheedo might not know how she feels, but what Toast sees is something like understanding; maybe not that, but the closest thing to it without knowing the pain. It's the most she's ever loved her...right here and now. Makes sense that it'd take something like this for her to finally feel it, Toast thinks, smiling wet and sad and broken. She'll never be the same without Slit, but maybe...even if he dies she'll survive without him. 

She will.

They are all survivors, but surviving is so much different than living, Toast thinks as she watches Cheedo part away from a small kiss, leaving her once again alone and by herself with nothing but her breathing corpse of a Warboy.

“I’ll throw you to the buzzards if you go out like this, you hear me you dumb lizard?” she mutters threateningly towards him - a lame threat though it is. He doesn’t bite back, just inhales and exhales. The old mangled mesh of metal and flesh is in plain view, pulling as he breathes. The peach of his skin glows with sweat. Just a fever, she muses as she sits up to grab at a moist cloth sitting in murk-colored cola. Slit’s even breathing stutters briefly as she presses the cool rag to his chest. Toast watches the telltale signs that he’s still alive as she swipes away the clingy sweat from his chest and arms, polishing the metal studding his torso.

Chrome bastard, she curses, frowning hard enough her cheeks start to ache.

It isn’t until the moon turns face that she stops sleeping in the bloodshed with him, most nights she’d wake up at the foot of the bunk, curled up around his bare legs as if she were a little girl again; scared and alone.

The Dag is healed; up and walking with a sash of cloth strung over her shoulder where her baby girl is swaddled inside. Her sisters use the new moon as an excuse to drag her outside, under the stars. Toast doesn’t think it helps much, but a couple days go by after that and she finds herself picking up her usual activities, collecting scrap and helping the Gyver boys draw up schematics for repairs.

She’s sitting on the floor in her room, a dozen scribbled pages around her and an etched pencil in her hand when she realizes it’s noon and she has yet to visit Slit. The disgusting thought of ‘should she even?’ crosses her mind as she stares at the desk where he’d first started scribbling his grandiose designs with her - the same rig that nearly killed him.

Every day that goes by there is less chance of his awakening, and this - forgetting him - is progress for her. Toast can sleep alone now. It would be better to distance herself, she thinks, but that is the Vuvalini talking and not her. They told her to let them take care of him - to keep living life as normal just like she did before she ever met him.

Toast carries this gumption with her throughout the day, chewing on it like chalk until she feels like screaming. 

She smiles at Cheedo as they bathe that evening. When Nux plays a failed prank on Capable, Toast laughs. Inside she feels so empty it hurts.

Up on high, when the moon is out and bright that night with The Dag rolling with Leaf in the grass while Coma strums a busted machine, Toast feels herself break out in a sweat even as she tries her best to laugh at the clumsy way Capable tries to teach Nux to braid her copper-colored hair. It feels like she’s about to vomit as her broken chuckle dies. Everything feels suddenly so dark and cold, yet she feels a fearful sweat run down her temple; bubbling up on her arms and legs. Panic grips her and the world fades in lieu of dread.

No, she looks around at everyone, hating them and swallows so hard she almost chokes.

She can’t do it. Would be nice, Toast thinks blearily, to live life without him. But he’s soaked himself in her bones and some place deeper inside and she can’t pretend she doesn’t need him a single second longer.

Toast stands and leaves, maybe she runs, but no one follows her thankfully. All the way down, deep down to the bloodshed and it’s there she finds him right where she left him, laid out on his back, breathing evenly; eye closed.

She’s mildly disappointed to see him as if she expected for him to be sitting up glaring at her for letting him sleep his muscles away. Toast almost smiles, thinking about how feral he’ll be when he realizes he’ll have to put in extra work to get back to where he once was. There will be days and weeks of keeping his ego from crumbling at all the weight he’s lost already. This month had not treated his bulk well. He looks smaller than he used to be, but he's still so much bigger than her and bloody hell...she needs him to be the bigger of them right now.

“Stupid smeg lizard,” she curses warmly, pulling out her chair to sit close enough beside him that she can rest her chin on the bunk, both her hands stroking the nude width of his arm. The hair he normally knives away has grown in. It’s prickly here and there but soft in others. Toast made sure to keep the stubble off his head but was too afraid to go near his scars. Luckily the hair on his face grows slowly, though it makes him less recognizable - whether that’s a good thing or not, given the circumstances, she’s not sure.

He looks more like a Wretched than a Warboy...

The repetition of her dancing fingers down his arm, thumb rolling over the back of his hand and up and then down continues until her muscles ache and her eyes grow heavy. The sweat from her terror has dried, but her heart still pounds. Her throat still feels tight when she swallows, but it’s okay because he’s here and she’s here...even if it’s only his warm body that’s here with her and not what she really wants.

Being away from him while she dreams seems so selfish now that she’s here with him again.Who knows what he dreams of, it could be one long nightmare for him. She won’t stay away tonight - she can’t. Her back still aches from the nights hunched over his bed. Another night of that makes her lip curl, already feeling the familiar ache settling in. No, she can’t bear to be that far away from him right now. Dag would say this was madness, but she could go fang herself for all Toast cared right now. Her white-haired sister had everything she wanted. Dag had her green things, her healthy sprog and a Warboy, blind as he was, by her side. 

Behind her eyes, she can see Coma and The Dag with Leaf, lying amongst the green grass while gentle sounds play off the ugly Warboy’s fingers. It’s a happy scene and Toast can’t stand it.

She needs Slit now. It's as simple as that. 

Toast elbows her way onto the bunk with a determined expression. It’s small - not much room - but she fits with just enough space to keep from falling off.

It’s there, sealed along Slit’s side that she curls her fingers and arms around his bicep, nuzzling the warmth of his shoulder and hoping - for the thousandth time - that his eye will be open when she wakes up. Today made her realize that she can admit to weakness without being weak. She’s also realized...she can’t stomach another day without him.

In the morning she wakes up to hands on her shoulder; fingers curling and shaking her into consciousness. For a brief manic moment, she startles, thinking it’s Slit waking her, but the pitying face of Maddie stares down at her. The frail woman with the feeding tube is standing behind the old Vuvalini, staring mindlessly at the three of them.

“Need you to scamper off for a tick, Love. Let Old Gab do her job. I’ll send someone to fetch you when she’s done. Promise,” Maddie tells her, soft and haggard but with nothing in her tone that says Toast can argue with her. It’s pointless anyway - the old woman always wins.

Slit’s profile is the same as when she drifted off to sleep. His good eye is still closed…

“Come now,” Maddie urges.

Slit remains motionless. It’s disappointing again, but that’s a familiar feeling and she can’t find the anger in her to blame Slit for it any longer. With a tired nod, Toast curls her legs and settles her feet on the cold floor, sparing one last look before leaving the warmth of the bunk. She’ll see him later, she tells herself. Once they’re done with him she won’t let him be alone for long. Maybe a bath and some clean clothes - some food and then she’ll be back. She promises him silently, but that silent promise is torn away, suddenly, by a loud, vicious shriek.

“No!” Maddie yells; biting and firm. Toast twists at the sudden noise. A shiver-inducing screech of metal and stone rips her ears as the bunk skids a few inches across the floor…

“...f-f-fang of-fff!”

It’s raspy and it’s pathetic and it sounds nothing like him, but it’s him and Toast doesn’t think twice about shoving her way between Maddie and the Bloodbag - doesn’t listen to Maddie as she yells at her or pulls on her shirt, trying to pull her away from a dangerous, hot-eyed Warboy.

“Slit!” she gasps, reaching for his rough, metal-studded cheeks as he snarls and bares his teeth; a hard hand around the terrified woman’s throat. 

“Slit,” she calls again and again until finally, she slaps him hard across the face. Their chaotic world suddenly goes quiet and still. Toast can see hell looking back at her in Slit’s bloody eye, but slowly the red-rimmed orb slides towards her…

“Slit, it’s me,” she tries, smoothing her palm where she’d smacked him. Please, she prayed even though she didn’t believe in the spirits Dag did - she prayed that he was still him - she supposes, she prayed to whatever or whoever would listen.

Don’t give him back just to have him forget.

“To’st?” 

“Thank bloody fuck,” she breathes, feeling waves of cold relief wash away that hot fear of doubt. With a shaken hand she pulls at his wrist - the wrist attached to the veiny hand still around the woman’s throat. 

“It’s time to let go, you stupid lizard,” she tells him; chastises him as best she can with the break in her throat. There’s no point in crying anymore. He remembers her and he’s awake. Alive and here and with her, but for some smeg-like reason, she can’t stop her eyes from burning.

Slit’s eye narrows, but he listens. Though it’s obvious his grip has gone slack, she needs to remove it. Once free the woman lurches away, stumbles over Toast’s chair and races out of the room. The whole shed will know he’s awake soon - the whole garage will be a damned bustle of noise and in moments her sisters will be coming down to watch Toast as she cries tears of relief all over a very weak and probably confused Lizard King. He’s staring at her with that same look he had when she’d given him her scarf so long ago and it’s heartbreaking. Why does she still feel so vulnerable and weak when he’s awake and alive!? 

Her fingers have started to shake as she traces the lines and scars on his cheeks. Bloody hell...

His throat is raw and ruined, but she thinks she can make out questions and threats but she can’t find any reply but to kiss him. Slit’s lips are chapped and his breath is terrible, but it doesn’t matter. Toast kisses him and grins like a damn loon. Suddenly he yelps like a busted dog when she leans over him, hips to his stitched stomach, but when she tried to give him some room he just tore the tubes from his arms and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back in. 

Toast gives him another kiss, sloppy this time and gross, but once again, she couldn’t care to stop. Against her lips, she could hear him better.

“Tell tha ol’hag ta go an’ I’ll make ya die if ya wan’ it so bad…” he told her, sounding half-dead and way beyond too weak to do what he thinks this is all about, but it’s hard not to laugh and so she does. The sound is long and loud and real. Toast laughs until she’s half mad with it, her face pushed into his neck, sobbing. Slit tenses underneath her, gone is the usual giddy anarchy she’s used to. Toast feels his smooth hand on her back, rubbing unsure circles as she lets the tears flow. Yes, she’s embarrassed by her reaction; by how much importance she’d put on him and what his death would have done to her, but mainly she’s just thankful he’s alright.

Underneath her, Slit hacks up a lung before asking, “Whu-what happened ta’ me?” It’s understandable, but his voice is still raw as a sunburn and Toast can’t yet answer him. She breathes deeply; shaken and dizzy and tries.

“You almost died on me, you soft smeg.”

“Smeg?” he sneers, grabbing the nape of her neck with a few weak fingers stuck in her hair. He tugs but all she can manage to do is laugh at him. If he thinks he’s being frightening he’d be sad to know the truth of it. When she pulls back he’s eyeing her with the one bloody orb critically; still confused. Toast sniffs up some snot from her tears and smiles.

“What’d you do to your head?” he asks her, curling his short nails along her scalp. Toast remember cutting them back a couple days ago and it makes her lower lip quiver, wanting to kiss him again just to feel him breathing against her, but he needs a bath and to swish out the reek of his mouth first. She’s been too focused on her own misery and his uncertain future to worry about shearing her hair. It’s not much longer, but she figures to him it’s as if it's grown an inch overnight.

“It’s grown a bit.” She tells him, thumbing his chin where a shadow of a beard has grown - the touch makes Slit work his jaw from side to side before sneering at the sensation. He looks like he might bite her over it, but his teeth remain clenched tightly.

He’s a mess of questions as he falls back on the bed, frail and dizzy and hairy and dirty. Toast palms his shoulder reverently. Had her younger self saw her now, Toast would have to gut herself for being such a deadhead; latched onto the ebb and flow of a Warboy of all things. With a swallow, steeling herself as Slit lifts his hand up to his jaw weakly, she opens her mouth, “You’ve been out for awhile, Slit...Nux said you fell under the wheels.”

For a moment he looks like he’s going to shred her, but his chest just billows with angry breathes as his eye darts about as if he’s remembering. He scratches his jaw, feeling the hair there with angry twitches. It looks like Slit comes up blind on any such memory though because he looks frustrated more than ashamed. If there was one weakness he had then it was pride...if he could remember falling under he’d deny it, but he can’t so he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter, though.

Toast throws her legs up on the bunk, folds them like a pup and grins down at him like she’s taken on the spirit of Capable. Her Lizard King is back.

“It doesn’t matter now. You don’t need to remember,” Toast tells him, hoping he won’t question her about it again for some time - at least long enough for her to get him cleaned up and on his feet again. She’s not sure she could stomach telling him the details while he’s still stuck in a bunk of all things.

Maddie appears in front of her, handing Toast a cup of aqua cola - she looks unhappy, frowning so deeply the sun-made wrinkles around her mouth look like canyons.

“Get him to drink...then I want him out of here. He’s overstayed his welcome as I see it,” Maddie tells her, unceremoniously setting a large jug of the water on the table by Toast’s chair. Overstayed his welcome? Toast wants to argue but bites her tongue instead. There’s no reason the old Vuvalini would stand for a vicious Warboy hanging around, terrorizing her workers, but Toast still has to worry her teeth down to stop from arguing.

“Here,” she says to Slit instead, helping him up into a sitting position before handing him the cup of water. She won’t belittle him by bringing the cup to his lips and when he takes the cup, with shaking hands, Toast gets up from the bed to busy herself moving her chair upright. It wouldn’t do him good for her to watch him struggle with drinking either…

The silence gives her a good long moment to settle her racing heart - to count her breaths in long deep ins and outs before returning to him. By that time he’s got the jug in his lap, breathing sharply as drops of aqua fall off his bristly chin. The unshaven face looks good on him...even if it’s slightly similar to the way The Fool looked when they were on the road. It’s familiar while being different at once.

Slit pins her with an unreadable expression once he’s finished gulping down his fill; an empty jug resting in his lap.

It’s unnerving her - making her skin itch, and she’s not certain what else to do but to carefully take the jug from him, expecting some sort of retaliation, but getting none. He’s quieter than he’s ever been, quieter than when Dag gave birth to Leaf. Toast realizes she doesn’t know what to say and by the time it seems he knows what he wants to ask her Maddie is back with a scowl. The door slams shut, jolting her.

“The Shed’s filling up with this ones,” she stops to nod at Slit, a wizened hand on the door as if blocking it, “ many admirers. It’s causin’ a ruckus and I want him out, now. You can use the back way through the Watershed but I won’t have this lot making a mess.”

Slit’s eye narrows, “Admirals? What they want?” His voice is still raspy but it doesn’t stop him from making demands it seems. Bloody hell, she missed his intolerable attitude.

“Tell Admirals to fang off!” he growls.

Toast doesn’t bother correcting him. She’s already pulling Slit’s boots and pants out from under the bunk, his belt has long since been stolen when she wasn’t looking, but she’d taken to hiding the rest of his things after that. The various tools and trinkets in his pockets have been sitting in Toasts dresser drawer in her room since they’d brought Slit in.

She can’t help but smile like some bonehead when Slit grumbles as she drags one of his legs off the bed. He’s still poised and glaring at Maddie by the door; stiff as a board and ready for war. They seem to be sharing a silent battle of wills as Toast gets his pants stuffed up around his ankles, trying as she can to work the openings up his calves.

He doesn’t get moving until she pinches the skin around his naked hip, glaring, “Get dressed, we’re being kicked out and there’s no time for this shit.”

Slit snorts loudly before throwing the tangled sheet off his lap, exposing himself without a care - it makes Toasts cheeks go warm, but it’s nothing none of them haven’t seen and Slit couldn’t give less of a shit on the best of days about his thunderstick flapping about. It’s oddly endearing. All of it. Even the way he snarls at the pinch of stitches in his gut, shoving himself into his jeans, sparing only a second to run a thumb over a hard bulb of healing tissue. More curious questions cross his face, but Toast helps him shove his boots on and immediately grabs his wrist, pulling him around the bunk.

Muffled chanting, cat calls, and something ominous leaks through the water-rotten door, but Maddie only looks annoyed and Slit is still too out of it to realize he’s been reborn an Immortan again. It will all be very bothersome once he realizes his newfound fame. Better a smug lizard than a dead one. If she and her sisters thought he was bigheaded before, well...Toast tries to be annoyed at the prospect as she drags a sedate Slit through the back way, but it’s difficult.

“Bloody hell,” she curses, feeling a pull of adrenaline in her belly - the same sensation of flying through the air, ready to die. The same she’d felt going to the final reaches with him that night after Dag gave birth. 

Toast tightens her hold on his wrist, even though her fingers don’t meet around the width of it and carefully steps through the wet corridors to the Watershed. Behind her Slit bumps against her backside, unsteady on his feet; tossing curses between them. When she dares to look back he’s breathing raggedly. A wide palm on the slick stone walls; grounding himself so he doesn’t fall. If he did she’s not sure what she’d do. He’s so much larger than her in every way that the thought of him going under while she’s all alone is nerve wracking.

But, he doesn’t. Though he seemed to lean and bend like a rusted tower, he never falls. They make it through the dripping halls and out into the mile high chandelier of filtration grids. Above them, she can see pinpricks of light from the bright, blistering sun, dissected by layers of fine meshes.

“So,” Slit hisses beside her, like a true poisonous sand lizard, “Toast The Krazy, you gonna tell me what we’re runnin’ from?” he asks - panting - and as she turns to shush him he pulls her in around the waist. Hard, sharpened stitches dig into her stomach, but the way he looks down at her stops her from jerking away. His eye is half-closed, lips parted...brows lowered with a telltale crease in the middle. He looks older with the stubble - wiser even, if she can believe that but there’s also something about his expression that makes her want to punch him until he’s coughing and laughing and ready to run her down.

She doesn’t want him vulnerable, which is exactly the way he’s looking at her. He needs to be the stronger of the two of them, especially now that she’s spent so long being alone and, at least on the outside, impenetrable.

Words of sarcasm nearly come out of her mouth as he stares down at her, waiting. The silence he exudes is worse than his face if she can believe it. Slit - silent? What a stupid world this one turned out to be. If the fabled Lizard King with all his pride and zealous attitude can be lackadaisical in a moment like this then…

“Toast? You get hit on the head or somthin’?” 

Toast closes her eyes, ready to call him soft roadkill, but he steps up real close very quickly and she jolts in place. He’s suddenly right there, stroking her face and jawline, curling his nails around her scalp and through her hair; searching for bumps, new scars or something squishy maybe. She sighs at the sensation, maybe moans. The tender touch that’s at once furious and delicate, makes her heart beat heavy in her chest. When she moans, a sure sound as any, she feels his breath against her nose. Finding her unharmed, he tries to kiss her but he’s filthy and he only looks hurt for a moment when she pulls back.

“You,” she tells him pointedly, “I love you, but you are disgusting.”

Slit raises a brow; his lip curling in frustration. “You mean uber chrome,” he provokes.

Toast continues, smirking, “You rinse out that latrine you’ve got in your mouth and have a bath and I’ll kiss you as much as you like. Deal?”

He grumbles and gives her earlobe a defiant tug but acquiesces nonetheless.

Satisfied, she steers them through the watershed, passing underneath a fine blanket of water - the light dotting off each droplet like stars in the sky. Halfway through he goes still, immovable even though she tugs as hard as she can. Slit just stands there, hunched under the curtain of filtered water. He’s going to make the pumps work harder with all the gunk dried on him started to sleuth off, but...Toast can’t stand to yell at him as he closes his eye, enjoying the sensation. She’s beyond soaked anyways, so she stands beside him determined to wait with patience.

However, after a few minutes, the cool aqua cola starts making her skin tighten and her knees shake. Despite it all, she has to admit that there’s something enjoyable about it. No, it’s nothing like the bath she and her sisters enjoy; it’s cold and sporadic. So, why does she feel like twirling underneath it?

“Sli-” she starts but he blows a spray of water in her face before she can finish. What the bloody fuck?

For a second she’s shocked, but that passes quickly. Now she’s annoyed, “Oh! You bloo-” he gets her again, right in the face and then he laughs. It’s nothing like the boisterous laughter she’s used to, but it’s there and when he swipes a palm quickly through her hair - releasing droplets in all directions - she laughs as well.

Don’t fight it, she tells herself. Why she’s been holding her guard against it before she’s not sure, but Slit grins and licks the water off his lips and bends back to swallow and swish the water around in his mouth. He swallows some and spits the rest at her. And although she ought to be mad for getting spit-laden water in her face, after a while...it feels like he never left. After a while, it feels like they’d simply picked up where they left off.

The water cools her skin - makes him hard to hold onto - but his open-mouthed kisses warm her from the inside out until eventually she feels hot and sweaty and nothing else matters but him.

It’s all very droll and romantic and had she been reading her own thoughts from a stained word burger she’d have sneered, but it’s different when it’s actually happening. Toast nips his lip, thumbs his scratchy jaw and he growls, kisses her harder and the world disappears around her just like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's been a long wait and with a cliffhanger last chapter no less. Hopefully, you enjoyed this despite the wait. Updates will begin on the regular (what the regular becomes I'm not sure yet). Leave me a comment if you find the time. I appreciate them.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for their patience. More Toast and Slit on the way!


End file.
